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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24688183">You Are My Sunshine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingburningfandomtrash/pseuds/flamingburningfandomtrash'>flamingburningfandomtrash</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cussing, F/M, Happy Ending, I have a shitty OC named Liam, I've given up on censoring the f bomb, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Like a lot more than i usually do, Slowwwwwwwwwwww burn, Underfell, its sad, so many trigger warnings, there be some fluffy bits doe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 07:14:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>40,909</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24688183</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingburningfandomtrash/pseuds/flamingburningfandomtrash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>While in the middle of a petrifying situation with your boyfriend, Sans appears and sees things you'd been trying to hide from him. Like the fact that Liam isn't the best person.</p><p>When he came in, he pulled the pin on the grenade: and as everything about you he hadn't known before explodes, he realizes you might mean more to him than he thought.</p><p>Trigger warnings (incase you didn't read the tags ya doof): it's sad, it mentions suicide, rape, and talks about a lot of domestic violence and manipulation. Happy ending though, 100% guaranteed.</p><p>ON HIATUS FOR THE TIME BEING!!!!!!!!!!!!! THANKS FOR 300+ KUDOS YOU GUYS</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sans (Underfell)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>414</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Looking Back, You Could Have Handled It Better</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Author here, just to give you one final warning before you dive into this:</p><p>It handles a lot of hard topics!! (If you don't know what the topics I'm referring to are, please read the description or the tags.) It is not a fluffy happy fic!! There is a lot of crying!! </p><p>The reasons I'm writing this are<br/>A) I love writing sad recoveries, even if nobody wants to read them,<br/>B) I love writing justice!! And bad guys get justice in this one!!<br/>C) Soft Underfell Sans, enough said.<br/>D) I'm admittedly mostly writing this for me- I wasn't actually going to post it at first, but it's getting too long and good not to share- and hey, maybe it could help someone.</p><p> I'll give a disclaimer: I HAVE NOT been a victim of domestic violence!! Please do not worry about me!! I just read so many first hand accounts of it, and, I don't know. I wan't to give someone a happy ending, even if they're fictional. Maybe that's why all the fics around here talk about "you". :)</p><p>Your friend with unreasonably long beginning notes,<br/>flamingburningfandomtrash</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You blink your eyes open, just barely able to wake up. Wherever you are, the feeling of safety is so whole and warm you’re praying that you never have to move. You look around, adjusting your eyes to the soft light falling through a window on the other half of the room, look around a bit. Everything in here is red and black and gold, with the exception of a few potted plants. Those are big and green and thriving. You look at them for a moment, your eyes straining to see what kind they are.</p><p> </p><p>	Then you remember where you are.</p><p>	And you remember how you got here.</p><p> </p><p>	You turn around, already feeling your arms shaking, your hands barely giving you enough support to help you flip over. Sure enough, curled up next to you is Sans, snoring lowly. Only now do you notice the protective arm he has around your shoulder. When he feels you shift, when his arm moves, he blinks awake as well. </p><p> </p><p>“hey… oh- oh, damn, ’s ok,” he says, when you start to cry. He pulls you into a hug, noticing how small you look when you curl into his chest, when you tremble like this. His face darkens slightly as he rubs your back. “i gotcha, paps’ been guardin’ the door all night. yer safe.”</p><p>“Thank you,” you whimper, holding tightly to him.</p><p>“no problem.”</p><p>“Can I stay here for a little bit?”</p><p>“you live here now, so, uh, yeah.”</p><p>“No, here,” you murmur, pressing on his chest and curling into the hug tighter.</p><p>“oh. heh. sure, i gotcha.”</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>	It was just a Tuesday. You didn’t like Tuesdays. In fact, you might suggest that you HATED Tuesdays. Because Tuesdays meant the bar down the street was open late. And your boyfriend went every time.</p><p> </p><p>	If someone asked you if it was an “abusive” relationship, you would have said no. He didn’t hit you or anything, no pushing or murder threats like something you would see on TV. The worst thing he did was yell a lot and occasionally threaten not to let you eat anything. That was his go-to threat, because he was constantly calling you fat. He thought starving you would help with that. It had, but it had definitely messed you up inside. </p><p> </p><p>	You barely saw friends anymore, thanks to him. Not even Sans: and Sans was the one you went to with EVERYTHING. You knew he was getting paranoid about your safety, his calls and texts had gotten more and more frequent. Your boyfriend- Liam- had accused you of cheating on him with Sans on more than one occasion, so you always made yourself scarce when he called or texted you, for fear of a shouting match. Can you even call it that? You never shouted back. </p><p> </p><p>You’d often considered breaking up with Liam, but there were some… issues with that.<br/>
For one, you lived together, and if you told him you wanted to break up, he would kick you out without letting you take your things. And if you tried to pack them up beforehand, there would inevitably be consequences.<br/>
Two, you were paying half of the rent, and you couldn’t leave without paying your half for at least a couple months advance to make sure he was alright. He may have been a dick, but you didn’t stoop to that level.<br/>
Thirdly, and most prominent, he had a… creepy habit of taking pictures of you when you didn’t want him to. Taking showers or during sex, for example. And in the most recent fight you had, he’d threatened to send them to all of your friends if you didn’t “behave.”</p><p> </p><p>	You didn’t want that. You really, really, really didn’t want that. Even if you’re nearly positive what he was doing was illegal, you couldn’t imagine the consequences you’d get if you tried to call the police. And again… he didn’t beat you up or anything! So it honestly couldn’t be that bad, right? You just needed to toughen up a little, was all.</p><p> </p><p>	That Tuesday, though… a lot of things went wrong, and they went wrong all at once. </p><p>	He came home drunk, as per usual. That night he wanted sex. RIGHT then, and RIGHT there. You didn’t want that, and you told him as much, avoiding his drunken grabs at you. You would never have said anything if he was sober, but you can avoid him right now, as he’s barely sober enough to walk. He started his usual rants about how lucky you were he kept you around at all for being so fat and stupid, how you should be grateful he was asking so nicely for it instead of just using you like a sex toy.</p><p> </p><p>	That scared you in ways you didn’t know you could be scared.</p><p> </p><p>	So when you heard a knock on the door, you bolted for it. Be it the mailman or the pizza guy, you just needed safety. And there was safety in numbers. Liam tripped over a chair, landing face-first on the ground and cussing up a storm. You threw open the door, and- to your relief- it was Sans. And the look on his face told you he’d heard every word.</p><p> </p><p>“get behind me,” he told you, in a voice low and full of anger. </p><p> </p><p>	You obeyed, mostly out of habit, trembling violently and nervous as to what his plan was. Yours had mostly sufficed of “run away”. When Liam finally came to the door and saw Sans, his anger doubled. </p><p> </p><p>“THIS THE ONE YOU BEEN CHEATIN’ WITH, YA LITTLE WHORE?”</p><p> </p><p>	If you thought Sans was angry before…<br/>
it was nothing compared to how he reacted after he called you THAT.</p><p> </p><p>	He slammed his hand forward- which sent some carefully aimed attacks and shot Liam backwards, pinning him to the far wall by his clothes. Once he was restrained, the skeleton turned to you. You’d never seen the red fire that was coming up from one of his eyesockets before, but it was definitely a bad sign.</p><p> </p><p>“grab everythin’ you need. i can handle this bag’a horse shit. go.”</p><p> </p><p>	So you did. You could barely see for tears, barely hold onto your things for trembling. Liam was screaming angrily in the other room, shouting threats at you. When he finally went quiet, you wondered if Sans killed him or something. It sounded like something he would do in the heat of the moment, and you found yourself hoping against all hope that neither of them were hurt. Stuffing the last of your things in your bag, you stumbled back into the living room. Sans had a sharp looking attack held to Liam’s throat: with his hand, almost to make it more personal- and he was talking in a voice so low and dangerous you were scared to even be in the same room.</p><p> </p><p>“- and that’s why you don’t deserve jack shit. ‘specially not the little ray’a sunshine you got in yer life. not for long though, not after you took her for fuckin’ granted. you ain’t ever gonna touch her again if you want to keep your spine, hear me?”</p><p> </p><p>	Liam looked over Sans’ shoulder, looked at you. You looked away, trembling when he yelled, loud and drunk. It was like he never heard Sans talk at all.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, bitch, go wherever you want! I still got the pictures, you see how well it works out for ya. Show everyone yer’a little slut.”</p><p> </p><p>	Sans looked at you, confused as to why those words hurt you as harshly as they did. You looked like you’d been punched in the gut.</p><p> </p><p>“what pictures?”</p><p>“H-he took pictures of m-me naked- I didn’t want him t-to, I-I didn’t- I-” you choked off, freezing up.</p><p> </p><p>	You glanced up, wondering how Sans would handle that. The emotions on his face flickered rapidly, and you could only catch a few at a time. First, concern. He was probably still worried about you breaking down a little before the words registered. Then it was shock; you know he’s seen some dark things, but the look on his face tells you he wouldn’t have even considered that. Rage. You saw his breaths speed up, and the fire in his eyesocket flared like a match in the wind. And, finally, a look of some sort of recognition slid into place, like he’d realized something. He finally turned back to Liam.</p><p> </p><p>“you fucked up big time,” he snarled, turning to your pinned-bug of a boyfriend. “you were bein’ a dick before. nobody goes to jail for bein’ a dick. you were try’na force her into shit she didn’t want. you oughta go to jail for that, but nobody would believe our word over yours. but takin’ pictures of her, naked, when she told’ja no? that’s jailtime, shithead. where’s yer phone.”</p><p> </p><p>	You watched all the blood leave his face, and it gave you a scary feeling of satisfaction to see it. Sans turned to you when the only answer he got out of Liam was screaming and profanities. </p><p> </p><p>"you know where his phone is? i won’t look, i swear.”</p><p>“Yes,” you breathe.</p><p>“can ya go grab it?”</p><p>“Yes.” </p><p> </p><p>	You went and got it, handed it to Sans. He took it, pocketed it, and thanked you. It felt so alien and strange to be thanked. Like some sort of forbidden action.</p><p> </p><p>“Gimme my fuckin’ phone back, whore!”</p><p>	This time, Sans seemed to forget threats. He turned, took two steps, and socked him in the jaw. Hard. You screamed and pulled him back, trying desperately to keep them from hurting each other.</p><p> </p><p>“you’re dead!” he roared, fighting to get at the thrashing human on the wall. </p><p>“Don’t- stop, you can’t,” you said, hands starting to shake so hard you could barely hold onto him. “Stop!”</p><p>That last shout seemed to get through to him, and he stopped pulling against you, instead vouching to stare daggers at Liam. “fine. you’re so lucky, ya dick.”</p><p> </p><p>	The red-hot anger that was settled in his soul almost hurt. It was so harsh, so sharp, so desperate. He wanted to blow this human to smithereens, let them find his blood all over the walls, let them find slivers of bone, small as shards of glass, stuck in the ceiling. This asshole HURT you, and that was unforgivable to him. But when you asked him to stop, he stopped. Because he would be no better than him if he didn’t. He said you were lucky he didn’t just use you like a TOY. Holy shit, he thought he was going to burn the house down. But he turned from the angry thoughts when he felt you hold onto his arm, shaking. He pulled an arm around you, instinctively, as if it was something he’d always done to keep you safe. Liam gave another threat, seemingly having rebounded from taking the blow from Sans.</p><p> </p><p>“Better stop all this when you still can, bitch, nobody else’s gonna want you.”</p><p> </p><p>	You shrank back like you’d been hit, mostly embarrassed rather than hurt: you were used to the treatment. However, Sans was growling like some sort of animal, you could feel the rumble of it under your fingers as you held onto his jacket. </p><p> </p><p>“then you must not have half a brain.”</p><p> </p><p>	You looked at him, a little confused, but didn’t say anything. He seemed to take a deep breath, then he turned to you, hoisting your heavy bag off your shoulder and putting it over his.</p><p> </p><p>“you ready to go?”</p><p>“Where are we going?”</p><p>“the hell outta here. you ready?”</p><p>You looked at Liam, where he was sneering at you, anger still radiating off him in waves. That was all you needed to make the decision. “Okay.”</p><p>“hold on.”</p><p> </p><p>	You held onto his jacket, letting him hold you tightly to his side. He swept his other hand around the room and blocked every door and window with bar-like bone attacks. It was like a little prison. He released Liam. You winced as he fell to the floor. And suddenly, in a blink, you reappeared somewhere completely different. It was a dark, quiet front porch. </p><p> </p><p>You felt star-struck. You were out. Someone else knew. The feeling was simultaneously feather-light, like a weight had been lifted off your chest, and terrifying. Sans rubbed your side reassuringly.</p><p> </p><p>“’s my place. me and pap’s.”</p><p> </p><p>	You didn’t respond, still trying to wrap your head around this. You were OUT. You were somewhere different, without eyes on you. You were safe. And right then, you were dizzy. You closed your eyes, willing the world to stop spinning as slow tears dripped down your face. </p><p> </p><p>“i gotcha,” he said, quiet but sure. “’s ok. you ready to go in?”</p><p> </p><p>	The tiniest nod of your head. He squeezed you, as if to praise you for being brave, and opened the front door: apparently it was unlocked. Or maybe he just had magic. You’d never been to his house in all the time you’d known him, so it was odd to see where he lived. </p><p> </p><p>“boss, ‘m home!” he announced, relaxing his arm from around you. You still held onto him, though.</p><p>“IS THE HUMAN ALRIGHT?” came a booming voice from the next room.</p><p>“she is now.”</p><p> </p><p>	Papyrus- who you’d met once or twice, but not for very long- came striding around the corner, took one look at your red face and trembling hands, and frowned.</p><p> </p><p>“YOU SAID YOU WERE JUST CHECKING ON HER. WHAT HAPPENED.”</p><p>“don’t matter. she’s gonna stay with us for a bit until we can fix things up.”</p><p>“IS SHE ON THE RUN FROM AUTHORITIES? I WOULD NEED TO TURN HER IN IF THAT IS THE CASE. I WANT NO TRAITOR UNDER MY ROOF.”</p><p>“she’s hurt,” Sans argued, though he didn’t exactly make it clear you weren’t hurt in the physical sense. “and she needs somewhere safe. she ain’t runnin’ from nobody.”</p><p>“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE YOU?”</p><p> </p><p>	A long silence. You finally realized they were looking at you for confirmation. You stuttered, just under your breath.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t- I’m not running from- from anyone. You don’t have to- you shouldn’t keep me here, though, you don’t-“ </p><p> </p><p>	Before you could protest, Papyrus put a hand up to stop you.</p><p> </p><p>“WHETHER OR NOT YOU THINK YOU DESERVE TO BE HERE IS IRRELEVANT. I WILL LET SANS HANDLE MOST OF THIS; IF YOU AREN’T RUNNING FROM ANYONE, THEN IT IS NO BUSINESS TO ME WHAT YOU’RE DOING. YOU MAY STAY HERE AS LONG AS YOU NEED.”</p><p>“and i’ll be out makin’ sure that little shit gets a proper ass beating.” </p><p>“IDIOT, SHE IS SHAKING,” Papyrus snapped.</p><p> </p><p>	Despite having said it sternly, both Papyrus and Sans seemed to be slightly surprised he acknowledged you like he did. </p><p> </p><p>“SO- SO STOP BEING ANGRY AND TEND TO HER. DO YOU LIKE LASAGNA, HUMAN?”</p><p>“Yes.” (You didn’t, but you’d give your left leg for some good food.)</p><p>“GOOD. I WILL PREPARE THAT. SANS, GET HER COMFORTABLE.”</p><p>“sure.”</p><p> </p><p>	Sans led you upstairs, pointing out various rooms quietly. He said ‘since it’s a human house, it has a toilet,’ but they didn’t use it. That gave you a strange comfort. Assuming they didn’t use the restroom, you assumed they didn’t have… that equipment… and after the night you’d just had, that made you feel remarkably safe. He showed you his room, letting you know that, unfortunately, they didn’t have a spare bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>“you can sleep in here or on the couch. i can stay with ya or take whatever ya don’t want.”</p><p>“Can you just… stay with me? For the first few nights?”</p><p>“no problem.”</p><p> </p><p>	He sat your bag on the floor, gently so your computer didn’t break. When he looked over at you, he noticed you were still shaking.</p><p> </p><p>“c’mere.”</p><p> </p><p>	You looked at him- he was standing there, arms open, inviting you into a hug. You came into it, letting him pull you to him. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask any questions, he didn’t move, just held you still and solid for a few long minutes. You were the first to break the silence, slightly muffled as you talked into his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s going to happen to me?”</p><p>“i dunno. but you ain’t goin’ back to him. we’ll keep ya safe. you’re safe now.”</p><p> </p><p>	He started to feel another wet spot on his shoulder. He looked at the top of your head nervously, not quite sure what to do. You’d cried before around him, sure… but it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t this REAL. Your voice crept out, shaky and wet and soft.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m scared… I… I don’t…”</p><p>“’s ok, ‘m here. i gotcha. let it out,” he said, when you made it clear you couldn’t say anything more. It was all he could think to say.</p><p> </p><p>	You felt all the pain come out, little by little, in your tears, in the way you held onto Sans like he’d try to run away if you relaxed your arms in the slightest. He tucked your head onto his shoulder, let you hold into fistfuls of his jacket as sob after sob fell from your lips. He simply let you, not offering any comfort but the strong arms around your back. He knew that any sort of hushing would give you the impression you should stop. And you’d needed a good cry, he was sure. After a while, you sort of… petered out. Went slack, dropped your arms and just let your head sit there on him. </p><p> </p><p>	He hated to see you like this. You were weak, and scared, and tired… vulnerable. God knows how long you’d been like this, god knows how long you’d been broken and praying for safety. It made him angry. It made him awfully, furiously angry, and he couldn’t stop it. The dickwad back at your apartment wasn’t treating you like a person… he was treating you like some kind of washed-up slave. What you’d gone through was wrong, in a world he wished was perfect for you. You deserved perfection. When he finally felt you stir back to life a bit, sticking your hands in his pockets- an old thing you used to do to annoy him, but you did out of instinct in that moment- he sighed.</p><p> </p><p>“how ya feelin’?”</p><p>“Better… worse… I don’t know.”</p><p>“y’needed that. ’s ok.”</p><p>“Your shirt is all wet now.”</p><p>“good thing i ain’t allergic ta water then, eh?”</p><p> </p><p>	You didn’t respond. He just murmured under his breath.</p><p> </p><p>“’s my damn fault i didn’t check on ya sooner, i coulda done somethin’. ‘m supposed to be yer friend. friends ain’t supposed ta be blind as all hell. ’m sorry.”</p><p>“It’s my fault, not yours.”</p><p> </p><p>	Something about those words rubbed him the wrong way. Your fault? YOUR fault? Of all the things happening here, what the hell was YOUR fault? And- maybe Sans blamed himself a little, too, when he probably shouldn’t have. But looking back, he felt like he should have known. The little hints, in retrospect, were flashing neon signs telling him something was wrong. The lack of calls, the quick, rare, despondent sounding texts, all those get-togethers cancelled or ended abruptly. One time- oh, lord, have mercy on his soul- you’d even said “He’s about to get home- I have to beat him there or he’ll know I came out without asking.”. He’d thought you were prioritizing your boyfriend over him! He was kicking himself just thinking about that. </p><p>	‘Your fault’. Psht.</p><p> </p><p>“it’s not- how is it your fault? he was fuckin’ blackmailin’ ya, how could you have gotten out on yer own?”</p><p>“I just- I did a bad job, I could have fixed what he wanted me to. I- it’s not his fault, I could have done better- and it’s not your fault, you weren’t a part of it until- well, it’s not your fault either.”</p><p>“look at me.”</p><p> </p><p>	He sounded so frustrated that you only looked up a little, slightly wary of the angry tone in his voice. He tilted your chin up the rest of the way himself, firm but gentle. </p><p> </p><p>“listen to me,” he said. “none of this is your fault. y’hear me? NONE. you did not do a bad job. you woulda killed yourself if you did everythin’ he wanted ya to do. it is one hundred percent his fault. so breathe. we’re gonna take care’a ya for a bit. you always helped my sorry ass, i oughta return the favor.”</p><p> </p><p>	He gave you a crooked little smile you didn’t think you’d ever forget. You hugged your face into his chest and held onto him tight. He made sure to do the same… he felt like you were slipping. Slipping between his fingers, away from his soul, somewhere he couldn’t get you back.</p><p> </p><p>“whatever you need. i’ll take care of it.” He felt your breath hitch, and he tried to lighten the tension a little. “yeah. i got it. i gotchu. ’s what friends’re for, right?” After a moment, he poked you playfully. “for real though, is that what friends are for? i’m still workin’ on the whole “bein’ friends” deal. ‘m i doin’ it right?”</p><p> </p><p>	You nodded, not seeming to follow the joke. Or if you did, you weren’t in the mood. He gave up: if you don’t want to laugh just yet, he ought to breach a… heavier topic.</p><p> </p><p>“so… what you said back there. about the pictures and everything. ’s that true?”</p><p> </p><p>	You looked at him again, eyes wide and mouth open a little. You looked hurt.</p><p> </p><p>“i’m not sayin’ yer lyin’, alright? i swear. but i gotta be sure.”</p><p>“He- yeah, he did. And they’re on his phone,” you add, before he can ask another question.</p><p>“ok… alright, here’s what i say- here’s his phone.” You looked at it like it was a time bomb, and he rubbed your shoulder gently. “he can’t get to it now. it’s safe. you’re safe. but i’m leavin’ this part up ta you. i can break it in half and throw it in the garbage disposal, and we never have to think about it, or him, again. no consequences for either party, no dealing with it needed. or, if ya want, we can file a police report. pap is on the force, so we already gotta little headway there. we give the photos as hard evidence, give ‘em the address and let them find him all caged up in there. there wouldn’t be too much court shit, it’s your word and your evidence against his. and i’m your witness.”</p><p>You managed, “What do you think we should do?”</p><p>“me? i wanna see that asshole go behind bars for fuckin’ LIFE,” he backpedaled a bit when he saw you cringe- “… but i get that you might not want to hand this stuff over. or face him again. and it’s your call. imma be here for whatever you do.”</p><p>You thought about it for a minute.  “Who would… you know, see it.”</p><p>“the pictures? chief’a police and the judge, i think. i think only a few people would see, and then there would be any information they needed about ‘em written down- like location or time, nothin’ about you.”</p><p>“Would Papyrus see?”</p><p>“maybe. but none of ‘em would be savin’ it anywhere. it would be a look to prove that there’s evidence, nobody’s gonna be doin’ anything with it.”</p><p> </p><p>	Another minute, and you nodded a little.</p><p> </p><p>“whaddya think?”</p><p>“I don’t want him around if he’s gonna hurt anyone else.”</p><p>“ok. you got it. we’ll get it all over with, short ’n sweet.” He sighed when you hugged him a little tighter. “you’re safe. no matter what happens, doll, i’m gonna keep you safe. that’s a promise.”</p><p> </p><p>	You stayed that way, hugging on your feet, until Papyrus announced that food was ready.</p><p> </p><p>	It was the best meal you’d eaten in months.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Bring Me Back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Recovery comes quickly when removed from the environment that hurt you.<br/>But will that be enough?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So! You guys don't hate this. That's nice!<br/>Thanks for tuning in, let's keep going.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>And now you’re here, with Sans, hugging onto him tightly again as the realization of what you still have yet to do crashes over you like a wave. You’d never known him to be the hugging type before now, but he holds you in ways you haven’t been held in ages, and the comfort of the gentle, non-invasive touch makes you dizzy with relief.</p><p>	It was like all that time you were only held up by a tightly-wound coil of fear. And when it released, you had nothing to do but collapse in on your own grief. You don’t know what you would have done if Sans wasn’t there to catch you. </p><p> </p><p>“read somewhere that sometimes hugging’s the best thing you can do for a human when they’re in a bad place,” he mumbles. “so i’m gonna test it a lot. for science.”</p><p>“For science.”</p><p>“that and makin’ ya laugh. ‘cause that’s supposed to be good for ya, too.” </p><p>“Thanks…”</p><p>“…yeah. you wanna go get somethin’ to eat?”</p><p>“Yes,” you say, quickly. Sans both loves and hates the obvious eagerness in your voice. He wants to help you, but he hates that you should have such a strong reaction to something as basic as food. It speaks to how awful your situation was.</p><p>“whatever you wanna get,” he says, breaking out of the hug slowly, sitting up, stretching. “boss is gonna want us to all have lasagna again, but if you aren’t up for that twice in a row we can make somethin’ different. we still got french toast.”</p><p>“That sounds… good.”</p><p> </p><p>	He sees you look just slightly- guilty? scared?- as you sit up beside him. Whatever emotion it is, it sure isn’t a happy one. He nudges your shoulder a little.</p><p>“you could use somethin’ sweet. don’tcha start thinkin’ about what he thought, ya look fine. well, ’sides needin’ a little sleep and some food in ya. but that ain’t too hard.”</p><p> </p><p>	You shrug. In the daylight, he notices you look much, much more tired than you looked last night. His face creases slightly, worried.</p><p> </p><p>“you… slept, right?”</p><p>“Some of the time.”</p><p>“some of the time bein’?”</p><p>“I fell asleep around five thirty.”</p><p> </p><p>	He glances at the half-broken clock mounted on the wall. Eight thirty-four.</p><p> </p><p>“you got three hours of sleep. how’ve you been sleeping… lately?”</p><p>“Not great. Um. I mostly slept in less comfortable places that had locking doors.”</p><p>“oh,” he mumbles, soul wrenching painfully at the thought of you forcing yourself to sleep on the tile somewhere. Better than you being forced into anything, though. “bet tonight felt great.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“well… we’re gonna getcha a better sleep schedule. melatonin’s the good shit, think it’d help. knocks ya right out.”</p><p>“Cool.”</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~</p><p>	Sans has basically been tending to you all week now. You can tell he’s concerned for you. You can tell by the look on his face that how you’re acting isn’t normal. You look guilty before and after every meal, you barely sleep, despite feeling so, so privileged when you can. A soft bed, your best friend keeping you safe; you nearly got five hours one night. It’s the best feeling in the world. And yet, Sans insists that you need more sleep. More to eat. More water. More time outside. You never thought he would be this big on mental health, but when you asked him about it, he shrugged sheepishly.</p><p> </p><p>“after we got outta the underground i hadda lotta gold on me. apparently it trades real well up here. i figured i should go out and blow it on somethin’ stupid… ‘cause i’m an idiot. so i thought i’d do therapy, right? get a real kick outta human shit. uh. i mean, after a few weeks i stopped bein’ ironic about it. i don’t know if i ever told’ja. but this is what the lady i go to always tells me to do. just… take care’a yourself. because someone out there really cares about you.” </p><p>“You?”</p><p> </p><p>	He looked at you, confused. </p><p> </p><p>“This "someone" who cares. Is it you?” you asked, again.</p><p>“oh- yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>	You looked at him for a second, smiling a little at the awkward look on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“So I guess I have to try a little harder for me, for you,” you said, giggling.</p><p>“yeah. but don’t just- don’t just do stuff ‘cause i say so. do it because you wanna do it- but, uh, if ya need some sort of motivation to take care of yourself then, sure, i want you to-“</p><p> </p><p>	You held his hand to get him to stop. He looked down at the little connection you gave him, stopping mid-sentence to look at it. Your little fleshy hand, all wrapped around his oddly structured hands. Bones, but not like normal human bones. Accommodating to his size and weight and sturdiness. All big metacarpals and thick phalanges and weird magic joints. And you’re holding it.</p><p> </p><p>“I got it. I’ll do better.”</p><p> </p><p>	Sans looks at you, not loving the way you chose to say that, but getting your meaning. He softly rubs a thumb over the back of your small hand, lost in its softness and the gentle way you squeeze his in response. It feels so good to hold onto you like this. Not to protect you or anything… just, innocently. </p><p> </p><p>“so… speakin’ of.”</p><p> </p><p>	You know what he’s talking about before he even says it. The police have already reviewed the evidence against Liam and are in the process of putting him away for a long time. Your job is simple. Go in and give them a verbal testimony. They said they would give you a few weeks to allow you to get back onto your feet. You have Papyrus to thank for that. But eventually you’re going to have to sit down in a room with some random officer and a tape recorder. And you’re going to have to recount everything. Which is basically the last thing you want to do.</p><p> </p><p>“you know i’m doin’ it, too, right?” he says, gently. “i know it’s different for me, but we’ll be goin’ in together. and we’ll be goin’ out together. the only part you gotta do alone is the talkin’ part. and you can walk out whenever you need ta to take a break. but nothin’s gonna keep movin’ without you telling them everythin’.”</p><p>“I can’t,” you manage, quietly. “Not yet.”</p><p>“ok,” he sighs, holding your hand in both of his. “ok. that’s ok. but it’s not good to keep it all in there, y’know. so you might ’s well tell someone with the authority to try to help.”</p><p>“No, they don’t. They don’t help. They lock him up, sure, that’s great, but that doesn’t help ME.”</p><p>“what?” Sans asks, genuinely thrown off. </p><p>“I… I want someone who cares. I want to tell you, but I don’t want to tell it twice, and I- I can’t. I want to, but I can’t, because I’d- I’d go back, and- and- and-“</p><p> </p><p>	You start stuttering like a broken record, and Sans gently rocks with you until you can breathe easily again. </p><p> </p><p>“what if you told me? you think if i was in there with ya, and there was some officer guy just watchin’ and askin’ a couple questions. could ya do it?”</p><p>“Yes… no? No, I don’t- but I want to- I just… I want it to go away.”</p><p>“it’s not too late to toss this if you want to. if you think it’s too much, we can stop.”</p><p>“I have to, I just CAN’T.”</p><p>“then we just wait for a bit. ’s ok. just… take care’a yerself. let me do it if you can’t. i can handle you not talkin’ about it for as long as ya want, but i can’t keep watching you hurt like this.” You look up at him, slightly surprised by the words. He meets your eyes sadly, taking your other hand in his. “’s like someone’s stabbin’ me in the soul. i can’t keep doin’ it.”</p><p> </p><p>	You nod, looking down at your hands, completely swallowed up in both of his.</p><p>	And you decide that you ought to try.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>	Sans has seen so much improvement in you lately. Maybe not with your character, with the way you talk and submit with everything. Sans is usually never the one to make decisions around here. He’s the mellow one with little to no opinion on anything. But in comparison to you, he’s some strong-willed leader. You don’t want to have an opinion on anything, because even so much as suggesting little things like what you want for lunch makes you quiet and nervous. You’re used, apparently, to being bossed around. And every single time, when you reveal that you aren’t the same as you used to be, it’s like a straight shot to his soul.</p><p>	But… otherwise? With sleep, with food, with water, with exercise? You’re crushing it. Eight hours of sleep last night, downing a bottle of water every few hours, spending a healthy amount of time on walks, making sure to take breaks. Sans managed to get out of you one night that your favorite food was grilled cheese, so he and Papyrus have been working on perfecting that lately. You don’t give much feedback, but your face lights up when they get something right, so Papyrus has been taking discreet notes. And by discreet, well, he wrote them on the dry-erase magnet board on the side of the fridge. </p><p>“-SHE LIKES THE BREAD PART DARK BROWN ON THE OUTSIDE, AND LIGHT BROWN ON THE INSIDE.<br/>
-LESS CHEESE. MORE BREAD!!<br/>
-BUTTER IS IMPORTANT, BUT NOT TOO MUCH OR IT GETS SOGGY.<br/>
-I SAW HER PUT KETCHUP ON IT ONCE. WE NEED TOMATO SOUP.”</p><p>	You drew a smiley face on the bottom of it.<br/>
That made Sans’ smile match.</p><p>	But, really: you have been improving. Sans notices the wrong-looking hollow spot over your stomach is filling in, little by little. He found a bathroom scale out at one point, so he thinks you’re noticing it, too. He hopes it’s some sort of inspiration and not a motivation to stop your progress. He always tries to drop little hints for you. Everything from making subtle jokes about how “the food is free around here” to holding you and commenting quietly on how nice you looked that day. </p><p> </p><p>	And all the while he’s been trying to convince Papyrus to convince his team. “let me in, let me in while they talk to her, and she’ll be over there so much faster.” “don’t make her do this alone.” “let me help.” Papyrus, personally, has agreed with his brother. Seeing you in this mental state, he seems to recognize that you need to talk to someone who cares. So he’s offered to “interrogate” you, and allow Sans in the room for moral support. He wouldn’t be allowed to talk, but he could be there to listen. And that’s all you need right now. Just a friend. </p><p> </p><p>Everyone is hoping it works out, because your deadline is approaching. And they don’t know if you’ll be ready when it arrives.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. No Sew-eat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A floofy fluffy happy bit to stick in the angst~!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi have this bc stuff's about to get dark</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“mornin’,” Sans says, strolling into the kitchen. You’re sitting on the tile floor with some needles and thread, hunched over what looks like a small black tent. “what’s that?”</p><p>You sigh, exasperated, and hold up the mangled piece of clothing. “It’s supposed to be a shirt that fits me, but it’s not going well…”</p><p>“looks more like a fishin’ net ta me,” Sans chuckles, taking it out of your hands and holding it up to the light. “what’s with all the holes?”</p><p>“I kept trying to cut it, but… um, I think I’m going to have to buy you guys a new pair of scissors.”</p><p> </p><p>	He looks at you, confused- you sheepishly hold up two halves of a pair of scissors. One part has a piece of black fabric wedged on it, and the blade is bent.</p><p> </p><p>“how damn tough is this fabric?”</p><p>“Heheh- sew tough.”</p><p> </p><p>	You start snorting when it dawns on him that you made a pun, and he takes a seat by you on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“aw, it’s not his fault. he’s just mad he didn’t make the cut.”</p><p> </p><p>	You laugh a little more, so he decides to keep ‘em coming.</p><p> </p><p>“he’s pretty hung up on it,” he says, holding up the shirt and giving a fake sigh. “but they said he was too soft.”</p><p>“What was he trying to get into?” you ask, still giggling.</p><p>“the ARM-y,” he says, waggling a sleeve at you. That one sends you into a fit of giggles, and he laughs along with you. For the first time since you’ve come here, he can feel your soul. You’re present. Your mind is here. </p><p>“How are you so good at these, anyway?”</p><p>“i’m just a naturally punny guy.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t happen to be naturally good at sewing, would you?”</p><p>“see, i don’t get why you’re doing this at all, honestly. can’t ya just, y’know, go out ’n buy a shirt?”</p><p>“I, uh, don’t have my credit card. Or any cash.”</p><p> </p><p>	He sighs, squinting at you.</p><p> </p><p>“here’s a thought. I could, y’know. pay for it. because you need actual clothes.”</p><p>“I’m not letting you go to that kind of trouble, and I’m positive I can get this to work sooner or later. Ripped clothes are cool anyway.”</p><p>“doll.”</p><p> </p><p>	He turns the shirt to face you, waving at the huge tear right over the bust.</p><p> </p><p>“i don’t know about you, but i would personally have a little bitta trouble walkin’ around with all my human junk hangin’ out.”</p><p>“No…” you moan, taking it from him. “I thought that was the bottom…”</p><p>“c’mon. we can getcha somethin’ cozy. just a couple things. please?”</p><p> </p><p>	He watches you consider the offer for a moment, and finally sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“You really are too good for me.”</p><p>“don’t say that.” You close your mouth quickly, and he has to remind himself how you react to ‘orders’ like that. “he put that in your head. and it isn’t true.”</p><p>“But he didn’t,” you mumble, looking at him with an amused little smile. “It’s just true.”</p><p>“no, it’s-“</p><p>“Listen. What have I ever done for you? Besides friendship and everything. When did I save you? When did I buy you things? When did I protect you and hug you and make you food and stuff? I’m not good enough for you OR Papyrus, and you both know it even if you don’t want to admit it. I mean- not that I mean I’m not grateful. But I’ll never be able to pay you back.”</p><p> </p><p>	He’s simply speechless for a moment. You look back at the shirt and shrug.</p><p> </p><p>“Owing people scares me. The least I can do is sew my own shirt.”</p><p>“you don’t OWE me,” he half-laughs. “you paid everythin’ off more than i ever coulda asked for.”</p><p>“How.”</p><p>“you’re here.”</p><p>“That means YOU got me out of there. I wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for you.”</p><p>“no. it means ya didn’t off yerself when ya had every chance to.”</p><p>	Your eyes go wide, and your mouth shrinks into a tight, thin line. He doesn’t seem to notice, though- he’s busy looking at his slippers.</p><p>“that’s what i woulda done. but yer here. i don’t know what i would do if you were gone, doll. if you’d gone and done somethin’ ta yerself, i woulda… i woulda fuckin’ burned the world to the ground,” he says, lowly. “so the fact that you’re here, despite everything he did to you, is all i need. my job is ta keep ya here, keep ya happy. ‘cause i care about’cha. that’s why i care ‘bout everythin’ else.”</p><p> </p><p>	You stare at your lap, once the shock seems to pass- shaking your head. He stares at a drifting bit of your hair getting caught on your face with tears, brushes it back gently. You raise your just barely shaking fingertips to hold his hand to your face, leaning into the touch. Neither of you dare move but for Sans to cup your cheek in his palm, using his thumb to wipe away the tears. A barely audible sigh echoes from both of you simultaneously- though it sounds like a thunderstorm, with how deathly quiet the room has gotten. His eyelights flicker dimly and a weak smile slips onto his face.</p><p> </p><p>“so how’s’about we go get’cha some shirts without huge holes in the front.”</p><p>“Yeah,” you agree, with a vulnerable smile to match his.</p><p>	That morning, sitting on the kitchen floor with his hand cradling your head, was when it hit him just how much he loved you. Maybe more than just a friend.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>“i like this one,” Sans says, prodding at a soft pink cashmere sweater. It’s thin enough, you could probably use it as a shirt. He likes the soft shirts, and he’s an expert at finding them. You’ve mostly just been following his lead at he sniffs out the softest ones, and picking the cute ones from the litter.</p><p>“It’s a turtleneck… I think that would be good, it gets cold in your room at night.”</p><p>“i could fix that,” he says, elbowing you flirtatiously.</p><p>“I- pfft- I’ll take the sweater, thanks.”</p><p>“ouch,” he laughs, putting it in the cart. </p><p> </p><p>	You have a few shirts and two pairs of sweatpants, when he saw you eyeing the soft black ones in the men’s section. You were all stutters and apologies over getting something from “the wrong section”, but he didn’t care. Clothes are clothes, and big pockets are a bonus. Not to mention they fit your body type better. According to this place, women are either toothpicks or pregnant. It’s been a nightmare trying to find things that really fit.</p><p> </p><p>“you wanna try on a dress?” he asks, nodding towards the little set-up of glittery, flowy things. </p><p>“Um… kind of, but do we have time? I do have to try THIS stuff on first, right?”</p><p>“c’mon, i’m not in a hurry. just try one on! for shits and giggles.”</p><p>“You mean kicks and giggles?”</p><p>“tomato, aircraft carrier. same difference.”</p><p>“Do you HEAR yourself?” you laugh. He shrugs and knocks on his skull with a hand.</p><p>“no ears, kid. i’m actually just really good at reading lips.”</p><p>“So if I cover my mouth and call you crazy, you won’t know?”</p><p>“well, i just saw ya.”</p><p>“Drat, there goes that plan… oh, look at this one!”</p><p> </p><p>	He glances up- man, he hadn’t even realized you were already looking at the dresses. You’re pretty observant to have kept your eyes peeled for this while having also been talking to him. The dress you’re looking at now IS pretty cute. White, thick, smooth fabric, with a big bow made out of beads on the back. Simple, but glowing pearly white like some sort of gem. However, you notice a small problem when you manage to heave the heavy thing off the rack. It’s… really not made for your figure. (More bluntly put, this is for an hourglass, and you’re more of a pear. Like everything else in this damn store.)</p><p> </p><p>	Sans hates the way the happy light in your eyes dies as you realize you won’t fit in it, and you put it back up on the bar. He pretends not to have noticed, pointing out other cool dresses as you peruse. Most have the same result as the first, which does little to raise morale for either of you.</p><p> </p><p>“who fits in these, anyway?”</p><p>“Most people,” you mumble. “I mean, I stand more of a chance than I would have a month ago, but that’s mostly because you’ve been keeping me so motivated to go on walks… it’s fine.”</p><p>“it’s not. and- and we ain’t givin’ up. i’m not, anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>	He keeps searching, while you follow, looking at the ones you like, even if they don’t fit. Finally, he laughs triumphantly and pulls a little party dress. Black with a white heart pattern. Not bad!</p><p> </p><p>“Like your soul,” you hum happily as you hold it up to yourself. “I like it! Fits, anyway.”</p><p>“wait- what?” Sans says, thrown off (and embarrassed). “how’ve you seen my soul?”</p><p>“It glows in your sleep,” you shrug. “Doesn’t it always?”</p><p>“uh… no?”</p><p>“Hold on, I’ll show you- like… when I do… this,” you say, awkwardly pulling him down to hug yourself completely to him. He’s a little uncomfortable at first, but then it just feels… right. Like he never wants to stop. And he hugs you back, breathing in your soft scent and listening to the gentle rise and fall of your breathing. It feels like peace. And, just like that, it’s like a weak, white, heart-shaped candle flickers to life in his chest. “There it is. It’s just like this,” you mumble, not pulling away enough to leave the hug, but enough to look at the glow behind his shirt. </p><p>“well i’ll be damned,” he chuckles, trying to calm it. Having a glowing soul is the monster equivalent of some sort of emotional boner. Not arousal, per se… but feeling like you don’t have a choice at that point as to whether or not you love them. Your body just, does it. Not that YOU know that.</p><p> </p><p>	You just got out of a bad relationship! What kind of friend would he be if he told you he liked you- THAT way- now? He’d ruin it all for you. Everything. You wouldn’t trust him after that. Especially after the experience you’ve had. How could you prove he wasn’t just saving you to try and get with you? How could you prove it isn’t just him being a creep? You can’t. And neither can he, not really. So he needs to keep his damn soul under control from now on.</p><p> </p><p>“uh. alright. go try it on, then. i just- wanna see.”</p><p>“Is your soul glowing like that not normal?” you ask, clearly still on the topic.</p><p>He feels like your eyes are boring a hole through his head, and he feels himself start to sweat a little. “happens sometimes when i’m- well- you know, comfy. happy? somethin’ like that.”</p><p>“Oh. Aww, softie,” you tease, pushing his arm a little. “If you want hugs, you can just ask.”</p><p>“i’ll take ya up on the offer. but seriously, go try it on.”</p><p>“Okay, okay!”</p><p> </p><p>	He pushes you towards the little dressing-room-curtain-box in the corner of the store, plopping down on a bench. He glares at a few curious onlookers. Any passing humans are looking at him and at the dressing room, suspicious as to what he’s waiting so intently for. A part of him is almost embarrassed to be seen waiting for something so small and insignificant. Just- waiting for his friend to try on a dress. It’s actually pretty nice to think about doing something so small when everything else has been so big. A happy detail in a sea of sad news. He’s busy wondering if any of the humans around here are going to report him or something (based on the looks he’s getting) when he hears the tell-tale swish of you leaving the dressing room. </p><p> </p><p>	Holy. Shit.</p><p> </p><p>	You step out of the room, clothes in one hand, hanger in the other, and look up at him. For one, the dress fits you, and it fits you well. It hangs slightly past your knees, just long enough for you to curtsy with it and twirl around a bit without it exposing anything. The white hearts shimmer with a bit of glitter. That’s great and all, and he sure does appreciate it, but… god, that smile. That’s the smile of someone who hasn’t really been happy in a long time. It’s a remembering smile. Remembering the last time you felt this way, and the time before that, and the time before that. You practically skip over to him, then hold your arms out and spin in a circle. The dress flows out around you, then softly settles. </p><p> His soul lights up, and it lights up FAST. </p><p> </p><p>“Happy?” you ask, pointing it out.</p><p>“shit.”</p><p>“Hey, it’s okay,” you laugh. When he doesn’t respond, you wave a hand in front of his face. He seems to cough a little, like he’s remembering how to breathe, and meets your eyes. His eyelights flick over your face quickly, and you notice a red blush rise in his cheekbones.</p><p>“oh, shit…” </p><p>“Is it bad?” you ask, shrinking back a little, confused. That seems to snap him out of his stupor.</p><p>“no! no, not at- no! shit, doll, you look- wow.”</p><p>“You like it?”</p><p>“i love it! you look great!”</p><p> </p><p>	He’s not usually very enthusiastic about anything, so this is rare. But the smile on his face is genuine. You can tell. He looks like he can barely compute the fact that you’re actually here. Finally, he insists on buying it for you (at this point you wouldn’t have expected anything less). You feel almost giddy. You’re happy because he’s happy, and because you feel pretty. That’s a feeling you feel like you’d nearly forgotten. </p><p> </p><p>	When you walk out- still wearing the dress- he takes your hand. You look from your conjoined hands to look at his face, but it’s like he barely notices it. It does feel natural, you’ll admit. Like a little piece of a puzzle that slid into place as if it had always been there. It doesn’t feel remotely intimate: it’s just, gentle. It’s comforting to feel a kind of love that doesn’t feel… like you aren’t a part of it. Forced, or coerced, or threatened love. It’s an open hand (so to speak), an invitation, a warm bath after a long day. </p><p> </p><p>	So, walking back into the house after a good few hours of shopping, new clothes in hand, you decide that that can be your catalyst. As you interlace your fingers with his, you decide it’s high time you went into the police station and said a few words.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWELCOME BACK TO *LIT* END NOTES WITH YOUR HOST............<br/>me.<br/>TODAY'S QUESTION IS:</p><p>if YOU were to die in charlie in the chocolate factory, how would you go out???</p><p>-yes you have to die not just suffer injuries<br/>-bonus points if you write a song the oompa loompas would sing while you suffered<br/>-the more sadistic the better</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A Relapse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's time to find out a whole story- not just parts of one. <br/>But does anyone really want to hear it?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>its sad now<br/>:/</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sans lays awake, looking at you as you sleep. Not in a creepy way, necessarily… he’s just, thinking. Thinking about you, and trying to keep you asleep so that no new worries arrive. You’re a restless sleeper, and when he’s close to you, you can stay calmer. You could use the calm- you nearly had an anxiety attack last night after you said you wanted to go to the police station and make your testimony. Sans was, indeed, cleared to come with you into the room. Today is going to be a rough day at best, but it won’t be much better if you’re busy tossing and turning.</p><p> </p><p>	Speaking of- you roll over, causing the blankets piled on your shoulder to fall off. He reaches over you to fix them, smoothing them out over your body. On one hand, it makes him happy to see you so peaceful… but another part of it is depressing to him. He only just realized yesterday how much he loves you, how much he’s always loved you, and now it feels like he’s at risk to have it taken away from him. One stupid human came into your life and ruined everything for you, including how much he can show his affection without frightening you. He had nothing but you to lose before- but really only in a physical way. You move away, you die, you can’t see him as often. Now he could lose you as a friend, too, with one wrong move. That seems almost infinitely worse.</p><p> </p><p>	He rests his skull on the back of your head, inhaling your soft scent of lavender shampoo and clean linen. Even if he can’t kiss like a human can, he nuzzles his teeth and nose into your hair in lieu of one. You stir slightly, but he doesn’t move. </p><p> </p><p>“love ya, sunshine,” he murmurs. “’s gonna be ok today.”</p><p>“What?” you say, half-awake, blinking open your eyes. He shrugs silently, but holds you a little tighter. After you yawn and turn around in his arms, you think to ask- “Okay… mornin’. How’d you sleep? You nervous for today?”</p><p>“shouldn’t i be askin’ you that?”</p><p>“You know I don’t want to do this. But I haven’t asked you.”</p><p>“i’m gonna be pissed tellin’ ‘em what i know. that’s about it.”</p><p>“No, like. Listening to me.”</p><p> </p><p>	You look at him with a curious look on your face. He buries his skull in his pillow a little bit, not meeting your eyes. You have to lean up a little to look at his face properly.</p><p> </p><p>“wouldn’t be fair for me to be nervous, would it?”</p><p>“Life isn’t fair.”</p><p>“ha, ha,” he huffs, rolling his eyelights.</p><p>“No, really.”</p><p>“i think you know the answer, anyway. no point askin’.”</p><p> </p><p>	You look at him for a minute, then scoot forward a little bit to get even closer to him. He doesn’t hesitate to hug you tightly, even if it means you have to stack your knees a bit to make it work. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine… it’s over now. That’s what you always tell me.”</p><p>“i hate it when you get hurt. fucking HATE it. it hurts.”</p><p>“Hurts?”<br/>“my soul. ’s like someone’s beatin’ it up.”</p><p> </p><p>	Your hand drifts over his chest, and stays there, petting his jacket like you’re trying to comfort his soul from the outside. He chuckles and moves your hand to the right a bit.</p><p> </p><p>“soul’s there. not on the left like human hearts.”</p><p>“Never learned that.”</p><p>“yep.”</p><p> </p><p>	He watches your face when you poke and prod a bit, getting around his jacket so you can feel it thrumming behind his shirt. It’s going crazy at your soft touch, but he can keep it under control enough to keep it from glowing. Though- it seems to be the wrong choice.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong?” you ask, quietly, looking at him.</p><p>“hm?”</p><p>“It’s not glowing. I was trying to get it to glow. Like, you know, get your mind off stuff.”</p><p>“oh. i mean. uh.”</p><p>“It’s okay, you don’t have to force it or anything, I guess I just thought I could.”</p><p>“no, i- i was kind of tryin’ not to do it. it’s kinda embarrassing.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“sign’a weakness,” he shrugs, looking away.</p><p>“Who told you that?” </p><p>“nobody had to. ’s just a fact. in the underground, y’know?”</p><p>“Sans, if it means you’re happy, then why would it mean you’re weak?”</p><p>“i… i mean, you… i dunno, it just does.”</p><p> </p><p>	You look at him long and hard, then shake your head.</p><p> </p><p>“I like knowing when you’re happy. It makes me happy. The difference between here and the Underground is the fact that you’re safe to have emotions here. Go ahead.”</p><p> </p><p>	He slowly relents, and his soul fills with the soft white flicker of light. He sighs in relief: it’s such an effort holding it back. You smile appreciatively, which really makes all the embarrassment turn into background noise in his head. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s nice, right?”</p><p>“yeah. yeah, not bad.”</p><p>“You’re… okay, right?”</p><p> </p><p>	After searching each other’s faces a moment, he shakes his head just a fraction of an inch.</p><p> </p><p>“‘course not. never been.”</p><p>“Not even with me?”</p><p>“‘m scared i’m gonna lose ya. ‘f i could stop bein’ scared’a that, well, i think i’d be ok forever.”</p><p>“You won’t lose me. Promise.”</p><p> </p><p>	He takes a deep breath, and you don’t point it out: but the light in his soul hiccups and flares for a minute before getting nearly twice as bright. You rub a thumb over it, a smile pulling at the edges of your lips. </p><p> </p><p>“you have no idea how much that means, doll.”</p><p>“I have some idea,” you murmur, as the light from behind his shirt sends a glow onto your hand.</p><p>“i… promises mean a lot to me.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“okay. yeah. yeah. okay.”</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>“‘m great.”</p><p> </p><p>	With that, you give him a last squeeze and sit up on your elbows.</p><p> </p><p>“In that case, we have a day to conquer. You think it would be too formal if I wore the dress to the station?”</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>	Sans comes out of the little room with the blinds still drawn with a frown on his face, but doesn’t say much. You look to him for some kind of support, and he simply sighs and sits down beside you on the little bench. This is taking longer than you expected- you’ve been here nearly an hour and your anxiety has spiked threefold from it how bad it was this morning. Sans has finished saying his piece, and now it’s turn to say yours. </p><p> </p><p>“-alright?”</p><p> </p><p>	You look up, realizing Sans was talking, and stammer.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh- sorry, what did you say?”</p><p>“. . . you’re not helping.”</p><p>“What! What’d I say?”</p><p>“are you alright?”</p><p>“Why do you ask?”</p><p> </p><p>	He reaches down and takes one of your hands- they’re pulled into tight fists, the tips of your fingers white, your palms sweating oceans. He gently rubs your palm with his hand, massaging and trying to get the tenseness to relax. When it does, he holds it.</p><p> </p><p>“it’s all good. it’s just gonna be me’n paps in there, and around here he don’t let his emotions get the best of him. no yellin’, no more questions than they have to ask. i’ll be right here.”</p><p>“I know. Don’t… don’t be mad at me, okay?”</p><p>“why would i be mad atcha?”</p><p>“I- I mean, I did- I mean- you seem- I don’t- I don’t know,” you finally say, with a sigh. “Maybe just don’t be mad, okay? I know I’m not the one you’re mad at, but when you get tense and quiet like that it scares me. So I don’t really… know? But I just… yeah.”</p><p>“coulda told me sooner, i don’ wanna scare ya.”</p><p>“It just happens when you see injustice. Like on the news or when you see there’s something wrong with me that isn’t my fault. You get all tensed up and quiet.”</p><p>“i won’t do it anymore, ‘f i can help it. ‘m not mad atcha. it’s ok.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>	After sitting in the tense silents for a few more minutes, Papyrus sticks his head out of the relatively small door to the questioning room and invites you in.</p><p> </p><p>“HELLO.”</p><p>(If anyone is tense and quiet right now, it’s Paps, you think.) “Hey, Papyrus.”</p><p>“sup, bro.”</p><p>“SANS, YOU AREN’T EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE TALKING,” he snaps- after a moment, though, he regains his composure. “PLEASE HAVE A SEAT.”</p><p> </p><p>	The chairs are the kind that, despite being padded, are cold and hard. Like the leather is made out of stone and the stuffing is ice. You get as comfortable as possible in your dress, take a deep breath, and take Sans’ hand again. He’s relieved by the adjustment, and squeezes yours back tightly.</p><p> </p><p>“ALRIGHT-“ Papyrus clicks a button on a little recorder-box-thing in the centre of the table. “FIRST OFF, I NEED YOUR PERMISSION IF I AM TO CONTINUE RECORDING YOU. PLEASE ANSWER ALOUD.”</p><p>“Yes, you can record us.”</p><p>“yep.”</p><p>“WONDERFUL. STATE YOUR NAMES.”</p><p> </p><p>	You tell some basic information into the recorder while Papyrus bosses you around for a moment: then he inputs his own in a fast, definitely memorized stream before sitting back.</p><p> </p><p>“YOU ARE ALLOWED TO ASK THIS MEETING TO END, OR TAKE A BREAK, AT ANY TIME. NOW, HUMAN- COULD YOU PLEASE TELL ME HOW YOU KNOW LIAM FLAKE.”</p><p>“We… we’re- we were? Dating. Um, yeah, he was my boyfriend. We met at a cookout thing for a mutual friend- uh, Katherine. She moved to New York a couple of years ago.”</p><p>“HOW DID LIAM TREAT YOU, AS A PARTNER?”</p><p>“He. Um. Is he going to hear this?”</p><p>“NO- THERE IS A NON-DISCLOSURE POLICY STRICTLY ENFORCED HERE: ANYTHING RECORDED IS ONLY GOING TO BE REPEATED IN CONFIDENCE TO A COURT OF LAW OR AUTHORITIES TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN.”</p><p>“Oh. Okay. Liam was… he wasn’t… he wasn’t very… gentle. Yeah, um, that’s how I would say it. He wasn’t very gentle with me.”</p><p>“COULD YOU ELABORATE ON THAT?”</p><p>“He was a rough person, just, in general. He… I mean, it started off great, but, after a while, it was like…” Sans gives you a gentle squeeze on the hand and pulls you a little bit to face him.</p><p>“act like you’re tellin’ it ta me,” he says, quietly. You nod, looking him in the face.</p><p>“After a while he treated me kind of like his own personal maid, but, worse. I had to do everything for him, but he would also, just, not listen to anything I wanted.”</p><p>“HOW SO?” Papyrus asks. But it’s like white noise. All you can focus on is Sans’ face.</p><p>“If I wanted to eat, he wouldn’t let me- most of the time, anyway. He called me fat a lot of the time and told me starving would be the fastest way to do that. And also teach me a lesson. If didn’t want to do things, either, like. Like, sex, um. He didn’t care. It, um,” (Sans’ face is creased and set, worried: but not angry. Here for you.) “It hurt a lot, most of the time. But he didn’t care.”</p><p>“WAS HE EVER PHYSICALLY VIOLENT WITH YOU IN ANY WAY?”</p><p>“I… not… not like, I mean… it only really happened once. He put out a cigarette on my shoulder because I talked back to him, or- or something.”</p><p> </p><p>	You hear a creaking noise- looking down, you notice Papyrus is gripping the table painfully hard. There’s a small divot in the metal under his thumb. It looks like he’s making an effort not to speak through his teeth, but it’s an uphill battle.</p><p> </p><p>“YOU REPORTED HIM HAVING TAKEN PHOTOS OF YOU IN COMPROMISING POSITIONS OFTEN AND HOLDING THEM OVER YOUR HEAD: IS THIS TRUE?”</p><p>Your voice is suddenly very, very quiet. “Yes.”</p><p>“YOU TURNED IN SOME OF SAID PHOTOS: IN SOME OF WHICH, YOU HAD HEAVY BRUISES ON YOUR THROAT AND NECK. WERE THESE CAUSED BY LIAM?”</p><p> </p><p>	Sans’ face crumples into a horrified look, eyelights going small as he waited for your response. Papyrus and the rest of the room faded again. Stop giving me that look, you pleaded, inwardly. Don’t make me say this.</p><p> </p><p>“DO YOU NEED ME TO REPEAT THE QUESTION?” Papyrus asks, not unkindly.</p><p>“No,” you whisper. “And- and-and, no, the bruises weren’t from him.”</p><p>“COULD YOU SAY THAT A BIT LOUDER, PLEASE?”</p><p>“No- I mean- no, he didn’t do that.”</p><p>“COULD YOU TELL ME THE CAUSE OF THE INJURY?”</p><p>“I… I…”</p><p> </p><p>	Both brothers, now, are looking at you with equal amounts of terror. Your eyes are filling, and you know it, but how are you expected to stop tears that are already falling?</p><p> </p><p>“I tried to commit suicide about six months ago. He found me almost immediately after I attempted it and stopped it from getting any… any farther.”</p><p>“I… I’M VERY SORRY…” he says, sounding genuinely shocked.</p><p>“How many more questions are there?” you ask, in a whisper pointed towards your shoes. </p><p>“ONLY A FEW. DO YOU NEED TO TAKE A BREAK?”</p><p>“No- no, keep going…”</p><p>“HOW DID LIAM REACT AFTER HE STOPPED YOU?” </p><p> </p><p>	Your head- which was at first only pointed towards your shoes, is now getting closer to them. You bend in on yourself, like the flashbacks are attacking you from behind. </p><p> </p><p>“we’re gonna take a break,” Sans says, firmly. Papyrus reaches forward and switches off the recorder. Your tears are getting faster and messier.</p><p> </p><p>“Sans- I’m sorryI’msosorry-“</p><p>“no, no- no, don’t be,” he breathes, pulling you to him quickly and enveloping you in a hug. “no… it’s ok, i… i’m not mad’atcha. i’m not mad. honest.”</p><p>“You- you said the only thing you couldn’t take was- was if I’d- and I would have, and I- I SHOULD have, I’m so-“</p><p>“shh…” he says, while you choke on your words.</p><p>“I should just…”</p><p>“relax… breathe. i’ve got you here. you’re safe here. i’m not mad.”</p><p>“I wish I’d died…”</p><p> </p><p>	You think he doesn’t have a suitable response to give you, one that’s both fair to how you’re feeling and fair to how much he knows it’s not true. So he just holds you a minute longer until you can breathe again. </p><p> </p><p>“hey… c’mon. we gotta keep goin’. can we knock the rest out real fast? can ya do that for me?”</p><p> </p><p>	You nod, slowly. Papyrus nods in agreement and switches the button on the side of the recorder. </p><p> </p><p>“ALRIGHT, WE’RE BACK. MAY I CONTINUE, HUMAN?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“THANK YOU. MAY I ASK HOW LIAM REACTED AFTER HE STOPPED YOU FROM COMMITTING SUICIDE?”</p><p>“It was the turning point when our relationship started to get really bad,” you admit, trying to dry your eyes. “I mean- it was bad before, but after that it got worse.”</p><p>“WORSE IN WHAT WAYS?”</p><p>“I got less and less privacy. He would check my phone a lot to see if I was contacting Sans. They’d met once or twice in passing, I think, and I think Liam was scared of him. But he mostly just accused me of cheating on him with Sans the most. So if I called or texted him I usually either had to delete my texts and call history or hide my phone.”</p><p>“DID HE EVER THREATEN TO DO ANYTHING TO SANS?”</p><p>“No. He was scared. I wouldn’t put it past him to try and hurt Sans if he got really mad, but he wouldn’t really be able to do much.”</p><p>“WAS THERE A CERTAIN CATALYST- IF I MAY ASK- FOR YOUR ATTEMPT ON YOUR LIFE?”</p><p>“No. I was just really tired. And really scared. I just wanted to sleep.”</p><p> </p><p>	There was a moment of silence- like the whole room sucked in a breath. Papyrus was tense and quiet. Sans was tense and quiet, but kept his eyes on you.</p><p> </p><p>“I want to sleep.”</p><p>“that’s enough,” Sans says, quietly, reaching forward and clicking off the little box himself. “we’re done for today. you need a break, sunshine.”</p><p> </p><p>	You have the air of someone who’s only half awake, but the face of someone who’s wide awake. While Papyrus silently packs up his things and saves the recording, Sans coaxes you to stand, guiding you to your feet and out the door. </p><p> </p><p>“see ya’t home, paps,” he says, as you walk out of the station.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>gets better soon tho :)</p><p> </p><p>Suggest good songs for me <br/>bonus points if you gimme a link to it</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. It's Someone Else's Turn To Break</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Sans totally doesn't freak out about you, because there's no reason for him to freak out, and he's not the type of person to freak out, anyway, so what are you talking about.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sans stayed strong when he gave his account: describing Liam in detail, telling word for word what was said and what was done, how he ‘rescued you’. He doesn’t like calling it that, though. It makes him sound heroic and strong. He was angry and scared.</p><p>	Sans stayed strong when you started your account: he thought he was mentally prepared for it, and, though he was wrong, he only showed sympathy. No fear. No anger. Just silent understanding. That was all you needed.</p><p>Sans even stayed strong when you admitted you had tried to commit suicide. Even when the thought of it came down like a wave, when the realization that Liam had done one thing right hit him in the gut, when you were desperate for him not to be angry with you. </p><p>	On the way home, he held your hand and stayed quiet, drove slow.<br/>
In the kitchen, over a small dinner of eggs and toast, he didn’t leave your side.</p><p>	Getting ready for bed (rather early) wasn’t even that hard, given the tired way you shuffled into your pajamas like it took too much energy, they way you desperately needed to rest. You were tired. He was, too.</p><p> </p><p>	And now, lying in bed curled beside you, he thanks his lucky stars he’s a silent and subtle crier. You were never supposed to go through that. Why didn’t you tell him? What’s wrong with him that you were so scared to say something? God… he was never, ever, EVER supposed to have to lose you. The thought of it makes another silent roll of tears collect at his jaw. If skeletons had to sniffle, or even breathe, he’d be just about screwed right now: but here you are, sleeping beside him, passed out. </p><p> </p><p>“god, sunshine,” he thinks, pressing his hard forehead to your soft one- “i’m sorry. but- i gotcha now. i gotcha now.”</p><p> </p><p>	He doesn’t know much: but he does know tonight is either going to be sleepless or nightmare-filled. He holds you extra close and reminds you how much he loves you in a whisper until he falls asleep… holding you. Holding YOU, alive you, okay you, safe you, tightly in his arms. You aren’t leaving him tonight, and that’s enough to keep him calm for now. You’re safe now.</p><p>	He won’t let you go.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>	When you wake up, Sans essentially has you locked into a hug. He’s faking being asleep, you can tell; though it would definitely fool someone who didn’t know him as well as you do. Though, you don’t try and ‘wake’ him- upon inspection of his face, he looks really tired. Not to mention when you try to scoot closer to him, your face lands on bit of cold wetness. You tilt your head back a bit to look, and you’re almost positive it’s tears you’re looking at, soaked into the thin pillowcase. He must have been going for a while for it still to be wet. </p><p>	Concern creases your face, and you try to take a closer look at him in general. He doesn’t have any of the usual roundness that his clothes usually provide, you notice. It’s like he was too exhausted to maintain the illusion. His face is gray, and the lines under his eyesockets are heavy and thick. He looks sick, almost, if you had to guess. You reach a hand up and stroke at the tear tracks a bit, trying to rub them away with your thumb. They’re persistent, though, so you give up. You’re going to need a washcloth or something for this… You shimmy out from his arms, scooting to the edge of the mattress and standing up. </p><p> </p><p>“where ya goin’?”</p><p> </p><p>	You jump, then turn around. Sans is looking at you, confused and maybe slightly worried. You try to smile- sort of. Your lips stick to your teeth, and it comes off more as a grimace. It can’t look nice, you think.</p><p> </p><p> “I’m just getting something to clean off your face. I’ll be back in a second, it’s okay.”</p><p> </p><p>	God, he looks worse awake- his eyelights are smaller than they should be. Normally, when he wakes up- at least with you- they’re big and soft, like someone took a blur tool to them. They get smaller snd stabler the more aware he is, the more he wakes up. Right now they’re clear and sharp, pinprick-small with anxiety. </p><p> </p><p>“. . .ok. you don’t hafta, though, ’s not that big a deal.”</p><p>After a pause, you sigh. “I’m alright now, you know that, right? Read my face. Am I lying to you?”</p><p>“yer worried.”</p><p>“About you, yeah. But I’m okay now. You don’t need to worry about me.”</p><p> </p><p>	He sighs and rolls over, turning his back to you. With a frown, you head downstairs and into the kitchen to wet a rag to clean his face off. Where are the dishrags anyway… you could have sworn they were in this corner of the kitchen…</p><p> </p><p>“What are you looking for?”</p><p>You start again, whipping around to see Papyrus. He must have been really damn quiet- you still aren’t sure how someone of his size and personality could have ANY stealth. “Jesus, you guys really like jumpscaring people, don’t you?”</p><p>“What is that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“Never mind… oh damn, are you alright?” </p><p> </p><p>	You take a look at his arm- he’s holding his coffee (black, of course) with it, which immensely surprises you, as banged up as it is. The bone is bruised in more than one place, and the lines on it look like freshly-healed scars.</p><p> </p><p>“I went out into the woods after my shift last night to do some target practice. I was a bit too aggressive, and a tree fell on my arm. It was easy to heal, I’ve had worse. What were you looking for?”</p><p>“Washcloths… but, that had to have really hurt, how did you…”</p><p>“One can accomplish much when fueled by rage. Just not, apparently, accuracy.”</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>“Not in the slightest, human. But that is to be expected.”</p><p>“Papyrus…”</p><p>“There will always be worse wounds than my own. Yours alone can attest to that. I would like to apologize for, perhaps, being too harsh in my judgement of you when you first came into my home. You were, indeed, wounded. I oughtn’t have doubted you.”</p><p>“It’s… it’s fine. Apology accepted. I just, really need a washcloth. Where are they?”</p><p>“Top drawer on the left.”</p><p> </p><p>	You turn to grab it- when you turn around to thank him, though, he’s gone. You really shouldn’t question these brothers… you dunk the cloth under some hot water- it will have a nice warmth by the time you make it up the stairs. As you do, you pass Papyrus going to his room. He looks at you, as if he wants to say something, but refrains. The door to his room clicks shut, and locks. </p><p> </p><p>“Sans?” you ask, quietly- your nose wrinkles up when you walk into his room. It smells like smoke. “Sans, what’s that smell…?”</p><p> </p><p>	One look at him gives you the answer. He’s leaning back on his mattress taking puffs on a cigar. He has it held between his sharp teeth loosely, as if biting down too hard would cleave the thing in half. It probably would, to be fair. You frown pointedly.</p><p> </p><p>“You shouldn’t smoke.”</p><p>“why not?” he asks, quietly, after taking a long breath.</p><p>“It’s… it’s bad for you.”</p><p>“don’t got lungs. don’t got a throat.”</p><p>“Sans…”</p><p>“what?”</p><p>“Sans, are you alright?”</p><p> </p><p>	He looks at you for a long moment, eyeing the wet rag between your hands and the sad look in your eyes. He’s more tired than you are, he’s sure, but you look incredibly more despondent. </p><p> </p><p>“why’dya ask?” </p><p>“You told me once, you smoke when you have panic attacks. Because it calms you down.” He doesn’t look at you. “Please just be honest, okay? You can smoke this one time if you don’t lie to me.”</p><p> </p><p>	You both sigh at the same time, his letting a plume of smoke into the air and yours making you cough afterwards.</p><p> </p><p>“yeah, i’m havin’ a stupid lil’ panic attack… so what.”</p><p>“I care about you, and I want to help, that’s so what.”</p><p>“why don’tcha, then?”</p><p>“I’m trying to,” you say, holding up the rag and stifling another cough. “But I can’t inhale this much smoke without coughing my guts out. If it helps you… go ahead, but, I’m gonna take a walk until it clears up, okay?”</p><p>“sunshine…”</p><p>“I’ll be back in half an hour, alright?”</p><p>“you don’t gotta do that. i’ll put it out, i just. i just need’ja close right now. if that don’t sound too creepy.”</p><p> </p><p>	You take a long look at him, at his pleading eyelights, at the slump in his shoulders. There’s a difference, you think, between being emotionally and physically exhausted. He looks like he’s been hit with a semi by both. You carry the wet rag over to him, and hand it to him- he uses it to put out the cigar with a hiss. You open the little window in the corner of his room, then sit beside him on his mattress. He inhales the remaining smoke near him, waving it away with his hand as well. </p><p> </p><p>“You look sick,” you say, offhandedly.</p><p>“happens when i can’t sleep. i’ll be alright for today.” </p><p>“You should sleep.”</p><p>“‘m fine.”</p><p>“I bet I can make you fall asleep.”</p><p>“i bet you’re wrong.”</p><p> </p><p>	Smiling at him slightly, you lean on him.</p><p>“If you say so.” After a few minutes of silence and Sans still decidedly not being asleep, you choose to speak instead. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you, honestly, I should have known how worried you were about me and left things where they were. So, I’m sorry. But; I’m in a better place now, because of you, okay? I really am. Just because I freaked out at the station and broke down a little… it’s not how I really feel. I promise.”</p><p> </p><p>	He doesn’t respond for a moment, and just as you’re turning to look at him, you feel something drop onto your shoulder. It soaks into your shirt- oh, geez. Hot tears are building in his eyes and rolling down his face.</p><p> </p><p>“shit,” he breathes, reaching a hand up to try and scrub them away with a fist. “‘m sorry. ya shouldn’t feel like ya shouldn’t tell me somethin’ for my sakes. you needed to tell someone, an’ i’m just panickin’… but god, am i scared to lose you.”</p><p>“You’re not going to lose me,” you say softly, hugging him. “I promised.” He holds onto you, croaking out his words- </p><p>“i know ya say that, but what if i do a bad job’a helpin’ ya? what if things change?you told me you were okay, all those times, and you weren’t. you weren’t even gonna say goodbye to me.”</p><p>“I did.”</p><p>“when. ‘cause i think i would’a gotten it.”</p><p>“When we went to the pizza place by the movie theatre and I had to leave early. And I hugged you, and I said I was really going to miss your hugs, and you got really confused?”</p><p>“that was… that could have been…?”</p><p>“Yeah. That could have been it.”</p><p>“fuck,” he coughs, as if the smoke in the room actually got to him. “that was so long ago, i had no clue, i… what if i’d… shit…”</p><p>“It’s alright.”</p><p>“it’s NOT!” he explodes. “i couldn’t live in a world without you! you’re… you’re home. you’re what makes this fuckin’ place home. you’re everything, why the hell don’t you SEE that! it wouldn’t be alright if you were gone, it would kill me! you can’t treat these things like they’re no big deal, ok? so stop tellin’ lies and for the love of god PLEASE stop tellin’ me it’s alright.”</p><p> </p><p>	In the silence following the desperate statement, you pull yourself into his crossed legs and hug him as best you know how while he sits there, dazed and afraid and aching. He pulls his arms around you too, slowly.</p><p> </p><p>“god, sunshine… sorry.”</p><p>“You’re okay.  I didn’t know you cared about me that much.”</p><p> </p><p>A minute goes by, then two. </p><p> </p><p>“i don’ know how you didn’t know.”</p><p>“Yeah…” when he doesn’t respond again, you press his chest with your head. “You want to do something? We could go cook lunch and just chill out for a bit?”</p><p>“i’d rather… i just need’ja to be here for a lil’ while longer, alright? please.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“thanks, sunshine.” </p><p>“Is that my new nickname?”</p><p>“yeah.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“ok.”</p><p> </p><p>	When Papyrus came into the room, hours later, after properly finishing healing his arm, he can’t tell where you begin and Sans ends on his mattress. You’ve intertwined with him, he thinks the word is, and you seem content enough. With a sigh, he pulls a blanket out of the hall closet and drapes it over the two of you. Surprisingly, you head tilts up, slowly, but wide awake.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” you whisper. “I don’t wanna wake him up. It took forever to manage to get him to fall asleep.” </p><p>“He’s difficult that way,” Papyrus shrugs, when Sans gives an unflattering snort in his sleep. “But I’m glad you’ve managed to help him. I can almost believe we can move on like usual. We’ll have his hearing tomorrow, by the way.”</p><p>“Hearing?”</p><p>“Yes. Liam’s hearing. Where he makes a case for himself. From what I’ve heard, he has the worst lawyer in the business, so if the judge has half a brain, the human won’t stand a chance.” The look on your face looks shocked, then scared, then resigned. “I probably shouldn’t have told you,” he adds, thoughtfully. “Sans is trying to hide these things, for your sake. It’s hurting him not telling you, though. I know you can’t see his soul, but it’s hurting quite often these days.”</p><p>“Yeah, he told me. Will I see Liam in person tomorrow?”</p><p>“I’m afraid so. I’ll snap him in half like a toothpick if he lays a finger on you, though, no need to worry.”</p><p>“I’ll try not to.”</p><p>“Get some more rest, I can make some lunch. We’ll- as you put it- take it slow today.”</p><p>“Thank you, Papyrus.”</p><p>“It is no trouble, human.”</p><p> </p><p>	He slips away, and you look over at Sans and frown. He just got done telling you how he can handle hearing these things, but apparently he thinks you can’t. You know you should be mentally preparing yourself to see Liam tomorrow, but you can’t. It’s just Sans right now, and how much he cares about you, how much he wishes he could take your pain upon himself. He cares. You sigh deeply and lean against him a bit more. </p><p> </p><p>“I hope this’ll pass,” you murmur, gently, nuzzling purposefully over his soul.</p><p> </p><p>	As you drift off, you don’t even notice his eyesockets blink open drowsily to admire you for a moment. He doesn’t say a word when his soul glows again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>we're gonna tell a story, as a group- the comments are going to continue it, in order<br/>ill start</p><p>once there was an orphaned octopus named gary, and</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. For Just One Day Let's Only Think About Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A brief reprieve from the sadness... :)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I got cavities from writing this chapter i swear</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Everything is going so much faster than you intended it to go. It seems like a hundred years, and yet twenty minutes since Sans picked you up out of your house, away from your boyfriend. And now, you’re going to see Liam again. Despite the feeling of it being forever since you last saw him, you still think it’s too soon. Unfortunately, a court hearing isn’t something that you can put off, like with your testimony. This was scheduled in advance, you’re sure. </p><p>“cheerios don’t really seem to fit the mood, eh?” Sans says, staring at his bowl in the same manner as you’ve been staring at yours. Tired. “cheery my ass. i’m making toast, you want any?”</p><p>“Sure. Mine are soggy anyway.”	</p><p>“cool.”</p><p> </p><p>	Ever since yesterday, Sans has seemed slightly off. Not AS off as he was when he had that veritable breakdown, but still a little distant. He’s talking normally, at least, even if the little physical comforts you would normally share on a morning like this are missing. It’s odd to you how normal it’s gotten, touching and brushing past each other, just… existing in the same space. If you were an outsider, you would have speculated that the two of you were more than friends, but this just… isn’t that. It’s holding hands, and holding one another, and lingering a tad bit longer than the average person would in a hug, but it’s not romantic. It’s just finding comfort in the solidity of someone else’s presence. </p><p>	You’ve come to associate him with safety. With protection. With home. Yeah, the apartment that technically isn’t yours anymore doesn’t feel like home. According to some legal jargon Papyrus told you about early this morning, while you were making coffee, you can’t live there anymore. You haven’t paid your half of the rent this month and Nimbus is going to prison, so there’s really nobody to afford it. Especially since you don’t have a job yet. You hope you can change that- you hate the idea that you’re freeloading on the skeleton brothers’ kindness alone. </p><p>“DO NOT WORRY ABOUT IT,” Papyrus told you, though he’s long been strictly against freeloading on laziness, “YOU WILL FIND A PROFESSION THAT MAKES YOU HAPPY, AND I WILL ACCEPT NOTHING SHORT OF THAT. SANS OUGHT TO BE PULLING HIS WEIGHT, REALLY, SO YOU’RE ALRIGHT. BUT, THE DAY HE GETS A JOB, I’LL SELL MY SKULL.”</p><p>	So, you felt a little better after that. Speaking of Papyrus, he walks into the room in a suit, adjusting the tie to go as tight as it can go. It’s really a nice suit, and you’re surprised he’s still wearing his tattered scarf and boots with it. Despite the eccentricity of it, you suddenly feel underdressed. Just the pink turtleneck you and Sans got paired with some leggings. And, obviously, Sans hasn’t changed a bit. He whistles, though, when he sees his brother, putting on a smug grin.</p><p> </p><p>“you goin’ to prom or a funeral? i can’t tell.”</p><p>“ARE YOU GOING DUMPSTER DIVING? OR IS THAT WHERE YOU FOUND THAT JACKET?”</p><p>“one, it’s a hoodie. two, shut yer damn mouth. sometimes ya forget i’m older than ya.”</p><p>“YOU DON’T ACT LIKE IT. ANYWAY, GO CHANGE. I SET OUT SOMETHING ON YOUR BED, IT’S THE RIGHT COLORS AND EVERYTHING. AND HUMAN, YOU OUGHT TO GO CHANGE INTO THAT DRESS, OR AT LEAST A NICER SHIRT. SOME OF MY HIGHER-UPS WILL BE HERE, AND I WANT TO MAKE A GOOD IMPRESSION.”</p><p>“Will do, Paps. I was just thinking about it.”</p><p> </p><p>	At being called “Paps”, he seems to be thrown off slightly, but he keeps talking as if he didn’t notice. Sans trudges up the stairs, a grimace on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“I wouldn’t tell him this,” Papyrus says, in a low voice, as soon as the door to Sans’ room slams, “But he looks much better when he isn’t wearing that bulky thing. You’d think Mettaton got a claw on him.”</p><p>	You giggle, and he grins, walking over to the coffee maker to pour himself another cup. </p><p> </p><p>“I WOULDN’T WORRY ABOUT TODAY, HUMAN. I’VE LOOKED INTO IT, AND UNLESS HIS LAWYER PULLS OFF SOME MIRACLE, LIAM WILL GET FOUR YEARS, MINIMUM. NOT THAT HE COULD: HE GOT LITERALLY THE WORST DEFENSE LAWYER IN THE STATE. HOWEVER, I MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE PULLED A FEW STRINGS. YOU HAVE ONE OF THE BEST.”</p><p>“Wow, really? How?”</p><p>“THAT IS NOT IMPORTANT.”</p><p>“Did you do something illegal?”</p><p>“I AM AN OFFICER OF THE LAW! I WOULDN’T BREAK IT. HOWEVER, THERE MAY HAVE BEEN SOME LOOPHOLES THAT WERE TAKEN TO MY ADVANTAGE. NOT TO MENTION I HAVE MULTIPLE PEOPLE WHO OWED ME FAVORS.”</p><p>“Dang. Thanks, Papyrus.”</p><p>“IT IS NO TROUBLE. HE DESERVES A PROPER PUNISHMENT, IN MY OPINION.”</p><p> </p><p>	You both look up when Sans comes trudging down the stairs, feet making clomping noises. His slippers are now dress shoes, his shorts are slacks, and his hoodie and ratty old tank top have been replaced with a button-up and a sleek jacket. It’s all a muted shade of dark red, with the exception of the button-up, which is black. Papyrus was right, in your opinion. He looks, admittedly, really attractive. When he sees the look on your face, he starts to play the part a bit, too.</p><p> </p><p>“heya, doll. like what’cha see?”</p><p> </p><p>	You snort as he spins in a circle for you. </p><p> </p><p>“Shall I find a flower for your lapel?”</p><p>“nah. gimme a gun and a fedora, i’ll just go ahead and pull off the mobster look. pew, pew,” he adds, making finger guns and shooting at Papyrus.</p><p>“THE ‘MOBSTER LOOK’ ISN’T VERY EFFECTIVE ON THE POLICE, I’M AFRAID.”</p><p>“ah, shit. the coppers’re after us, doll, we gotta dip.”</p><p> </p><p>	He runs over to you and scoops you out of your chair, then runs from the kitchen into the living room.</p><p> </p><p>“you’ll never take me alive! we’re goin’ on the lam!”</p><p>“Sans!” you squeal, laughing, holding onto him for dear life as he takes the stairs two at a time. “Sans, put me down!”</p><p>“and let the coppers getcha? nah, dollface, we’re skippin’ town.”</p><p>“SANS, BRING THE HUMAN BACK DOWN HERE IMMEDIATELY!” Papyrus says, hands on his hips, looking up at the upstairs balcony. “YOU’RE GOING TO DROP HER.”</p><p>“oh, c’mon, boss! do the voice.”</p><p> </p><p>	You hear a loud sigh, and then thundering footsteps as Papyrus comes bolting up the stairs, hands held together for a bigger finger gun.</p><p> </p><p>“PUT THE LAMB DOWN AND NOBODY HAS TO GET HURT!”</p><p> </p><p>	At this point, you’re laughing harder than you have in ages, especially since you never knew Papyrus had a playful side. However, Sans wipes all the laughter off your face when he edges to the balcony, swinging a leg over it.</p><p> </p><p>“alright, dollface, looks like we’re gonna hafta jump!”</p><p>“JUMP?!” you scream, looking at him incredulously.</p><p>“we’re cornered! alright, hold your breath, close your eyes, hold on tight!”</p><p>“SANS NONONO WAIT DON’T-!”</p><p> </p><p>	You hold onto him as tight as you can, burying your face in his shoulder and screaming as your gut drops- and then in mid-air its like you were caught by a parachute. Oh, right. Magic. You land safely on the ground, and Sans runs back into the kitchen, still holding you. You’re literally speechless with shock. </p><p> </p><p>“uh, doll? you ok?” he asks, when you come to a stop. He’s panting now: high strength, low stamina.</p><p>“That was the fucking STUPIDEST thing you have ever done,” you say, laughing fearfully, looking at him with admiration, disbelief, and amusement all at once. “I literally cannot believe you just did that.”</p><p>“aw, don’t say you didn’t have fun,” he chuckles. “oh, shit, wait, the toast.”</p><p> </p><p>	He sets you down lightly- Papyrus comes in and helps you to a chair, with how shaky your legs are right now, then shakes his head at Sans.</p><p> </p><p>“YOU’RE THE WORST, BROTHER.”</p><p>“i’m the fun one around here, is what you were trying to say,” he says, using both thumbs to point at himself. “and i make the best toast.”</p><p>“WHY ARE WE RELATED.”</p><p>“i’m just sayin’, i forgot all about it and it is the PERFECT color.”</p><p>“YOU ARE SO FANTASTICALLY TERRIBLE.”</p><p>“did i hear a “fantastic” in there somewhere?”</p><p> </p><p>	You laugh at their banter. All this is almost enough to distract you from the fact that this could be the last time you see Liam for four years.</p><p>	Almost.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>that was a pretty awesome story we wrote last time<br/>shout out to the dude who said lederhosen because i had to google what those were and the mental image of them on a fish made me laugh for a good hour and a half</p><p>so lets play again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</p><p>Siri and Alexa have always secretly been</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Everyone Gets Their Day In Court</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which a sentence is handed, and regrets are to be had.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>heyooooo i frickin forgot to update and this chapter is suuuper short so theres another one right after it :)<br/>double update woop woop</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After the warmth and playfulness from this morning, the courthouse seems cold and uninviting by comparison. The front of the building is all fancy and professional, with paneled wood and marble floors and little name plates on every door. You feel like you’ve intruded on something in every room. It’s too quiet, but not a dead quiet. A startled quiet, like you just whispered a big secret to a friend and they’re still processing your words. Like you just punched someone in the gut and they’re struggling for air.</p><p>	As soon as Papyrus breached the doors, he went from patient and comforting to the Papyrus you’re much more accustomed to: cold, analytical, and sharp. He’s building you from hallway to hallway with practiced speed, even though he assures you he’s never been here before. Apparently, he memorized the floor plan prior to this. You’re impressed. And scared. Why is everyone here so tidy and quiet? You can’t see a single thing out of place.</p><p>	Sans is, as ever, the opposite of his brother. Upon entering the creepily neat  building, he’s taken your hand again: the first time since yesterday. He keeps trying to tell jokes to distract you and make you laugh, though it honestly doesn’t come to much avail. It’s equally frustrating and worrying to him. Even though you’re only silent because of nerves, he assumes you’re pissed he didn’t tell you this was all going to be happening a lot sooner. To be fair, he should have, and he knows it. But he was so scared of how you’d take it, and he just wanted you to be happy for as long as it could last. </p><p> </p><p>“We’re here,” Papyrus says. You notice he’s using his “inside voice” for this building. It seems appropriate. “You and Sans are going to be sitting in the front, past the wooden gate. If you’re called up to speak, you’re going to step up on the wooden dais. Don’t be rude. Don’t say rude things. I’ll be in the back.”</p><p>	The room isn’t nearly that you envisioned. Admittedly, the only context you have are occasional snippets of Judge Judy changing channels on TV, but… you did think the judge was supposed to sit up higher than THIS… but, the rest seems pretty average. You take your seats in the front like Papyrus told you to, Sans still holding your hand tightly.</p><p> </p><p>“hey, what did the judge say to the dog when he came into the court?”</p><p>“Sans…” you say, lowly. He seems to recognize the time isn’t appropriate for a joke.</p><p>“yeah?”</p><p>“He’s going to be RIGHT there,” you breathe. The little wooden stand in front of you is a mere three or four feet away. Where Liam will be. When he’s sitting, he’s only an aisle away from you. Sans seems to recognize this… but a weird surge of fear and anger seems to crash over him at the same time. When you look at him, his eyelights are small, but sweat is beading at the top of his skull. </p><p>“it’s gonna be fine. he can’t hurt you.”</p><p>“But he could.”</p><p>“he won’t. i’m right here, i won’t let that happen.”</p><p>“He’d hurt you, then.”	</p><p>“who gives a shit if he hurts me? he’s not going to hurt you. that’s all that matters right now.”</p><p> </p><p>	You get quiet and look down at your shoes. You must look pretty ridiculous, you admit, staring at the sneakers. You had the foresight to buy this dress, but no fancy shoes to go with. Not that you mind, anyway, as this option is infinitely more comfortable.</p><p> </p><p>“he won’t… oh, hello.”</p><p> </p><p>	You look up, confused, when Sans adds that, to see a man in a clean, sharp suit and perfectly coiffed brown hair shaking Sans’ hand. Oh. Your lawyer- well, admittedly, you don’t feel comfortable saying that just yet, as it’s your first time meeting him. But, or so he says, he’s already gotten all the information on your case, and listened to your testimony earlier, courtesy of Papyrus. His name is Mr. Jones, but he told you to call him Luis, and he’s very nice. Though, you might be biased, and this is literally your first time meeting him ever.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, so- I’ve never really worked with many monsters before, but I don’t think it should be too different from what I normally do,” he chuckles. “Though you can bet whoever is hired as Mr. Flake’s defense is going to make a bigoted argument. But, you know, losing cases always bring up some bigoted thing or other. He has nothing based in facts.”</p><p>“glad to hear it,” Sans says, sighing. You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it, honestly. Most cases like this take forever because it’s just verbal testimony and character pitted against each other, but you have too many witnesses and solid evidence for that. It should be a brief case, and it should be nearly impossible for him to get anything less than jailtime.”</p><p> </p><p>	That “nearly” in “nearly impossible” is what makes you nervous.</p><p> </p><p>	However, that brief fear is replaced by a much realer, deeper, more solid one when Liam walks into the room with an older man you’ve never seen before. They’re both in pretty nice suits. The older man sits down in his place, and Liam sits across the aisle from you. He doesn’t say a word… but he does look at you with an unmasked amount of rage. You’re sure Sans notices, but he doesn’t make any comments about it. The only thing keeping you from jumping up and making a run for the door is the fact that Liam has two police officers standing at his back to make sure he doesn’t try anything. You’re grateful for the protection.</p><p> </p><p>“The court calls this hearing to order,” you hear. You look over quickly at the (short) podium in the front- oh, thank the lord. Your judge is a woman. That should make things easier. She says a few other things, but they’re mostly blurred in your relief. The old man next to Liam stands up and says some things, then your lawyer, and your focus comes back sharply, when you hear: “I call Liam Flake to the stand.”</p><p> </p><p>	Sans and you suck in a breath at the same time, your face set but nervous, his filled with rage that makes his magic crackle softly. You squeeze his hand tightly, and he hardly seems to notice. He just squeezes back on reflex.</p><p> </p><p>	And then, he’s walking to the front. It looks like all the power you used to see him holding is gone, and he slouches a little as he walks. He looks scared… but also angry. His hands are in fists, as if he can’t believe he’s here at all. You feel nauseated. You hear a low rumble- Sans is growling, you gather, on the edge of your consciousness. He’s growling at Liam. He deserves it, probably.</p><p> </p><p>	Whatever happened next, you only remember by feeling, not by words. You couldn’t recall a word of what Liam or his shitty lawyer said- apparently he was the older man- only how their lies made you feel. Because the way they presented- or rather ATTEMPTED to present the story- made you look like a manipulative bitch, Sans look like a bloodlusting animal, and Liam look like some kind of poor, scared victim. You remember you felt hurt that he was saying such awful things about you, scared that the judge would believe their version of things, angry that they went out of their way to highlight every detail about Sans’ attack on Liam instead of talking about what LIAM was going to do to you before SANS arrived.</p><p>	It was all bullshit, and it made you feel like throwing up. But you didn’t. Because then you and Sans had to stand, and walk up to the front, and answer questions. True to Papyrus’ word, your lawyer presents a much more believable case, with much more evidence. This one, you remember with words, because they drew out the confidence in you.</p><p> </p><p>“And,” the judge said, a concerned and stern look in her eyes as she looked at you, “if not for Sans’ presence, do you believe Mr. Flake would have raped you?”</p><p>“I do,” you said, quietly.</p><p> </p><p>	That was the part you really remembered the clearest. That word… rape. You’d never thought to use it before. Maybe once or twice, but you thought of it as some sort of extreme. It made sense, though. And suddenly you realized you’d been tied to Liam for much too long. No wonder you were afraid of him. No wonder. After that, you were very clear, provided the details they asked of you, laid everything out. You made sure that you didn’t put an emotion into it, not justice or weakness or anger or fear. You kept the facts the facts, and your feelings to yourself. It made for a much more believable story, really.</p><p> </p><p>	And when you were done speaking, and you turned from the judge to go and sit back down, Liam was glaring at you. You met his eyes, and shook your head. You don’t exactly know what you were saying no to, but you knew the answer was definitely no. He looked even angrier after that. You sat back down. You shook slightly, trembling with adrenaline and nerves, pressing to Sans’ side. He held you gently, conveying his pride in you with a squeeze and a smile.</p><p> </p><p>	After all that, the verdict came quickly. It shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did. Ten years, on charges of domestic violence, abuse, and sexual assault. Sans was chuckling under his breath when he heard it, but you weren’t. You were shaking, and you found yourself being heartbroken over it… why? You knew he was terrible to you all that time, and yet you felt like you knew him to well to see him go. </p><p> </p><p>	As some policemen handcuffed him and got him to his feet, you turned in your seat to meet his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” It was an impulse, the first thing you could think to say.</p><p>“Should be,” he growled. One of the policemen shot him a look, but he kept going. “You’re nothing if you’re not with me. Good fucking luck.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” you whispered.</p><p> </p><p>	But he was gone.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>	Sans didn’t know you could be this forgiving. You said you were sorry. To Liam. He looks at you, at your body racked with shudders, then at your soul. So tired. Too tired. It feels like he’s being attacked to see it. You think you’re still- after everything he did to you!- indebted to Liam, for whatever reason. And it pains you to feel like you aren’t paying off that debt. It hurts you more than you could possibly know. But he knows. He can see it. And, god, you told Liam YOU were sorry. That makes him angry. Not at you, not really. Angry that you were giving someone- someone who had hurt you beyond repair- apologies. But you’re hurt. Every time he thinks he’s healed you, you’re hurt again. So he has to bring you home again.</p><p> </p><p>“it’s ok,” he says, softly, when you turn back to him. “hey, you here?”</p><p>“Yeah,” you said, a bit too fast and a bit too loud.</p><p>“he’s just bein’ an asshole. you don’t owe him nothin’.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“you wanna get outta here?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“sounds good ta me… oh, paps’ gotta talk with the lawyer guy. let’s get in the car, ok? how’s that sound?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>	He sighs and pulls you to your feet, and gently guides you outside… secure in the knowledge that you’re truly, wholly safe now. All that’s left is to celebrate.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>im warning you shits about to get sad you might just wanna keep reading</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Whoops.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Sans makes the mistake of a lifetime.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Sans wakes up next, he’s full on last night’s late, late dinner and dessert. It feels good to wake up full. He snuggles into the blankets, pulling his arms tighter around you. It’s so wonderfully comfortable here. </p><p>“god, you’re so soft,” he mumbles, drowsily. A purr in your ear, a soft praise edged with longing. “i could hold’ja like this forever. you hear that, sunshine? forever.”</p><p> </p><p>	You hum your assent and pull closer. He likes that, and dips his head a little closer to your ear.</p><p> </p><p>“you got somethin’ nobody else i ever met ever had. somethin’ so good. you make me so happy.”</p><p> </p><p>	Even half-asleep, you smile.</p><p> </p><p>“i love ya so much… one day i’ll tell ya, when you’ll feel it, too… an’ i’ll keep ya safe, ain’t nobody else ever gonna have ya. i swear.”</p><p> </p><p>	That makes you open your eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>	He stiffens, and you look up to look Sans dead in the face, your nose almost brushing against his teeth. You pull backwards, on instinct, backing up and off the mattress. You look frozen, and he panics at the sight of the total, utter look of betrayal in your eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“i- i don’t- what?”</p><p>“That’s how you feel.”</p><p>“i mean- no, not-“</p><p>“Don’t lie,” you choke, getting to your feet. “don’t do it.”</p><p>“fine, yes, that’s how i feel. i’m sorry.”</p><p>“Fuck…” you whisper, backing up against the far wall and curling into a ball, not taking your eyes off him for a second. “FUCK.”</p><p> </p><p>	He sits up, dread and panic clear in every feature. He puts his hands up, slow words coming out a few at a time.</p><p> </p><p>“i can explain-“</p><p>“What the fuck.”</p><p>“i’m not gonna hurt you, i swear to god-“</p><p>“Why the hell did I trust you?”</p><p> </p><p>	Oh. That killed him. He doesn’t speak for a moment, eyelights pulled tiny like he’s in physical pain. </p><p> </p><p>“You were just- I was sleeping- you were- oh, goddamnit, I can’t catch a break, can I?” your sadness and fear is turning into anger, and you stumble to your feet. “You’re a sicko. I trusted you and you were probably- fucking- jacking off to the smell of my hair or some shit.”</p><p>“it ain’t like that, i ain’t- doll, no-“</p><p>“Don’t call me any more of your stupid nicknames,” you hiss. He shrinks back, as if hit. No, no, not like this. “I can’t- I can’t do this right now. I’m going- I’m going on a walk. Don’t follow me.”</p><p> </p><p>	You turn on your heel and stalk out the door, and he can hear each step as you take the stairs two at a time, practically kicking the front door open. </p><p> </p><p>Then he wakes up. </p><p> </p><p>	Sans’ soul is going at a million miles an hour, and he feels dizzy. Shit. That was one helluva nightmare, if he’s ever had one. Normally they’re about him getting killed by someone in his distant memories. Those hurt. But this one hurt in a different way. Jesus. Ouch. Why’s it so hard to breathe?</p><p> </p><p>“You good?” you ask groggily. Oh. He was probably hyperventilating a little bit. </p><p>“‘mfine.”</p><p>“Liar.” You mumble, sarcastically. You flip over to face him, and take note of the way he’s breathing, at the vague look of panic in his eyes. “If you have nightmares, you can tell me, you know.”</p><p>“i… ‘snothin’. you go back to sleep, sun-“ he hesitates- “bud.”</p><p>You catch the stumbling, frowning. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“sure i am.” <br/>“You wanna tell me what it was about?”</p><p>“nah.”</p><p> </p><p>	Crap, now you look hurt. He’s probably screwing things up by pushing you away like this. He knows he should, but, he can’t say anything now. It’s too late.</p><p> </p><p>“You want to talk about it, or be distracted from it?”</p><p>“um. distracted. but not in the funny way.”</p><p>“You just want me to keep talking?”</p><p>“yeah.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>	You pause a moment, considering what you intend to say. He watches you, anxiously wondering if you somehow know the content of his dream. Seemingly, though, you don’t.</p><p> </p><p>“Once upon a time.”</p><p>“ooh, story time,” he chuckles half-nervously, settling in. </p><p>“Don’t interrupt,” you say, sternly. “Okay. Once upon a time, there were two… um…”</p><p>“snails.”</p><p>“What did I JUST say. But, fine- two snails. And they were best friends. They did all the things snails do together. Like, crawl across sidewalks really slowly and try not to get stepped on. And eat leaves. And hide in flowerpots after it rains, and all that jazz.”</p><p>“exhilarating.”</p><p>“Hush. What was special about these two snails is that they both had, uh- cracked shells. They were falling apart, and they needed to find new ones. So they searched the garden, and asked around, and checked snail eBay, but the snails couldn’t find any their size.”</p><p>“uh oh.”</p><p>“Mm-hm. One morning, the snails woke up to find- oh, I need to name them. Sheldon and, uh, Slimy. Sheldon’s shell was falling in on him. It was hurting his back a lot, and it was really hard for him to move. He could barely look for new shells anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>	You waited for Sans’ interruption, but he didn’t give one. His eyesockets were wide, seemingly enraptured in the story.</p><p> </p><p>“So Slimy got really sad. His friend was really hurt, and he needed all the help that he could get! But there weren’t any shells in the whole garden. Slimy was really worried that Sheldon was going to die.”</p><p>“jesus, sunshine, this is getting dark.”</p><p>“Shut up, it gets better. So Slimy helped hide Sheldon safely inside a bush, and Slimy started his own journey to find a legendary artifact that might be able to cure his friend. It was called “superglue”, and he’d heard he could use it to stick Sheldon’s shell back together. He traveled all the way to the legendary, uh… dumpster of legend, and went inside. He searched and searched, and he found the superglue!”</p><p>“oh, yeah- okay, how’d he get it back to sheldon?”</p><p>“I’m getting to that. Slimy took ahold of the bottle with those little eyestalk things snails have, and he dragged it all the way back to the bush. Now, uh, keep in mind it’s like three times as heavy as he is, so all the strain made his own shell really start to hurt. He helped superglue Sheldon’s shell back together, and save him, but- his own shell had taken some major damage.”</p><p> </p><p>	You waited once again for Sans’ interruption, but it didn’t come.</p><p> </p><p>“well, keep GOIN’,” he insisted, at the pause.</p><p>“Sheldon was healing, and the superglue was starting to stick, but there was so little left in the bottle that he was getting worried there wouldn’t be any for Slimy. He said, ‘take a little off my shell, i’ll be okay, it’s already starting to dry!’ but Slimy didn’t want to hurt his friend on accident, even if it meant he was HURTING himSELF.”</p><p>“ah, a parable.”</p><p>“No, it’s a story about snails, and it has a happy ending.”</p><p>“what happy ending are ya givin’ me, sunshine?”</p><p>“Slimy eventually got over his nerves, and his anxiety, and maybe a little bit of his pride. It was almost too late, but after a while of hiding how badly his shell was cracked, he showed Sheldon, and Sheldon used the last of the superglue and some off of his own shell to put Slimy’s back together. They healed together. And it took some time for the glue to dry, and sometimes pieces fell out that had to be put back in. But thanks to Slimy, they were slowly but surely, both healing. He just needed to know Sheldon was there for him. The end.”</p><p> </p><p>	Sans smiles at you, then rolls his eyelights. </p><p> </p><p>“cheesy story.”</p><p>“Is not!”</p><p>“is too. you shoulda made a hawk SWOOP in and-“</p><p>“And you say I’M dark, at least I’m not killing the snailsona of myself.”</p><p>“did you just call it a snailsona?”</p><p>“So what if I did?”</p><p> </p><p>	After a second of glaring and giggling, you sit up abruptly and smack him in the face with your pillow. He coughs, laughing, and sits up, grabbing his own. You go to hit him on the torso, but he grabs it before it can make contact, wrestling it out of your hand. He sandwiches you in a double attack of pillows, so you leap forward to attack him head on- he seems caught off guard, but even more so when you try to tickle him. He just stares at you while you go at his abdomen and armpits, laughing, not because it tickles, but at you.</p><p> </p><p>“oh, my god. i can’t get tickled, dumbass, i’m a skeleton.”</p><p>“Oh, shIT-“ you squeal when he targets under your arms, your belly, the little spot under your chin that he knows makes you laugh. You scream and wiggle and snort, unable to get comprehensible words out. You seem to continue to try to say his name, not just as a scream, but to get his attention; he dials back his attack a bit to listen to you.</p><p>“You’reee the worst,” you splutter, breathless. “Okay, yeah, I’m fine, just, you scratched me- you have like, actual claws, you can’t forget about that.”</p><p>“waitwait- where’d i scratch you?”</p><p>“No biggie, dude, I’ll put some Neosporin on it later or something.”</p><p>“where, though?”</p><p> </p><p>	You lift up your chin a little, pointing to a short red line beside your throat. There’s a little spot where the skin is obviously torn a bit, but for the most part it just seems like a nick. No biggie.</p><p> </p><p>“oh. damn, i’m sorry, didn’t mean ta.”</p><p>“Yeah, you’re good. Just sensitive there.”</p><p>“i bet,” he mumbles, the mirth in his face dying a bit. You frown.</p><p>“Hey, don’t you dare go there- c’mon, we were having fun.”</p><p> </p><p>	When he doesn’t respond, you sit up, crawling over until you’re sitting in between his legs, waving your hand in front of his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Come back.”</p><p>“i can heal it, if you want,” are the first words out of his mouth. When he comes back to himself, he looks surprised to see you right in front of him. </p><p>“It’s okay. It’s not a big deal.”</p><p>“ok.”</p><p> </p><p>	His face is red, and his eyelights are looking down. He had hoped that, by not looking at your face, he could resist asking the question that was sitting in his soul. But, well, seeing your knees wedged between his only continues to remind him of how close you are. So the question slips out anyway.</p><p> </p><p>“so, uh. would’ja let me kiss it better?”</p><p> </p><p>	He looks up at you- your face looks like it’s trying to be beet red and pale as death at the exact same time. Splotchy and nervous.</p><p> </p><p>“Um. I- um. I-I, I- sure.”</p><p> </p><p>	Admittedly, he had expected a rejection, but, this is much more exciting than that. He leans forward, and, though he admittedly doesn’t know how to kiss you, he decides to try doing it the traditional way first. He presses his mouth to your lips, nuzzling in there. God, you’re already so soft, he had no idea it could get this… this much more. His hands move to your hips, gently, not making any move to do anything more. He feels lighter than air. So soft. This is everything he wanted, your body nestled up against his own, and your lips trailing over his mouth…</p><p> </p><p>	And then, he feels something wet drip down his cheek, and he pulls away, the light buoy of happiness in his soul sinking like a stone.</p><p> </p><p>	You’re crying.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hey hiya helloooooooooo<br/>i'd ask that nobody get mad at sans in the comments as weird and stupid as that sounds<br/>general disclaimer: he thought he was in the clear and he was trying his best</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Reprecussions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which some questionable decisions are made, and some less-than-pleasant aftermath.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>:////</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“oh- shit, ’m so sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>	What is he apologizing for? You said yes. You said yes. You WANTED this.</p><p> </p><p>“hey, hey, y’there? i didn’t- i didn’t mean to-“</p><p> </p><p>	You thought you could move forward. You thought if you could just, try it. Maybe you could erase the bad memories, and all the doubts.</p><p> </p><p>“sunshine- talk ta me, say somethin’. please.”</p><p> </p><p>	You had foolishly thought that if you could pretend you loved him like he so clearly loved you, you could make it real. Fake it ’til you make it. You trusted him, and it seems he just took it a little too soon.</p><p> </p><p>“please.”</p><p> </p><p>	But now every memory from then comes back, how it all started just like this with Liam, and how he broke you. You can’t do that again. You can’t do THIS again. And the one person you automatically want to go to for comfort is the person who is causing your pain.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” you murmur, because you are. You’re sorry you can’t make him happy, you can’t give him what he so desperately wants and so clearly deserves. Because you’re scared, and it’s too soon, and now you can’t even really trust him. </p><p>“no, no, ’s my fault, i shouldn’ta- i’m so stupid, i shoulda known you’d- i mean, you ain’t ready for- i mean, you wouldn’t want anythin’ like this. or me. or-“</p><p>“I said yes, I thought I could- I thought I could- I wanted to try, but. I don’t think I really wanted- I mean, how could I say no to you?”</p><p>“‘course you can say no to me,” he says, half-exasperated. “you don’t ever have to do nothing for me that you don’t wanna do, ‘specially this. y’can always say no.”</p><p>“I don’t want you to hate me.”</p><p>“i could never hate you.”</p><p> </p><p>	You look up at him, and he gently wipes the tears off your cheeks, a sadness in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“even if you don’t feel the same way as me, that don’t mean i hatecha. still care aboutcha, think ‘m always gonna care about ya. yer everythin’ ta me, sunshine. everythin’. so i’m never gonna hatecha for sayin’ no, for standin’ up for yerself. i just wish ya had said somethin’ sooner so i didn’t mess this up so bad.”</p><p>“You didn’t mess up…”</p><p>“maybe we both did.”</p><p> </p><p>	You think about that for a minute, in silence. You sigh, pulling your arms around yourself like you’re trying to give yourself a hug. He doesn’t move to hug you himself. </p><p> </p><p>“Have you always… felt like this about me?”</p><p>“i dunno. i dunno how long i been feelin’ this way, but it kinda hit me for real a week or so ago. i think i always knew, just a little, but i didn’t… know it.” </p><p>“And, is it like, um… I mean if I can ask, I just… is it romantic, or is it, uh…”</p><p>His face goes red, and he shakes his head quickly. “nah, i ain’t like- doin’ nothin’ creepy.”</p><p>“Okay… I just. I need to think on this. Can I have a minute? Like. Alone?”</p><p> </p><p>	In all the time you’ve been here, you’ve never asked to be alone before. You always want to work through your problems with him, and now you’re pushing him away. He deserves it, he’s sure.</p><p>	He stands, murmuring more apologies, and slinks out the door. His soul has never felt more hollow.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>	You know what you have to do- you KNOW what you have to do. But god, you don’t want to do it. </p><p> </p><p>	You look at your bag- the big one that you used to bring all of your things here in the first place. It’s overstuffed with folded clothes, and your computer is haphazardly stuck on top. The seams are stretching to the point you think they’re going to break.</p><p>	How fitting.</p><p> </p><p>	You stand, look around the room- the mattress looks just as lumpy as ever, but inviting and warm as well. The potted plants are fresh and vibrant. And, even though some things are strewn around the room- clothes, shoes, books- you think it has a sort of natural order to it. A habitat. A home. No- not a home, not anymore. Not now. You go over to his dresser, and open the drawer where he keeps some old journals- he told you you could read through them if you wanted, but you don’t. You just flip to the back of one and carefully tear out a blank sheet of paper. You find a pen on the floor. </p><p> </p><p>“Sans,” you say, out loud, as if you were talking to him through the letter. It hits you how wistfully you said the name, so you shut your mouth and sit on the floor, using the side of a drawer as a desk. </p><p>“I’m really sorry. I think I’ll never be able to apologize enough for what I’ve put you through, and what I’m about to put you through. But I’ve imposed for too long. I can’t stay here anymore.<br/>You always tell me that I don’t have to be independent, but that if that’s what I’m striving for then I should take a few risks. So that’s what I’m doing right now. Taking a risk. I’m going to find my own job, my own home, and live on my own. I can’t stay here anymore. <br/>I know this is going to hurt you, and I don’t want you to think that it’s all because of what happened between us. I think I just realized that I knew I was walking towards something and I realized I wasn’t ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. I don’t know a lot of things right now, but I know I just can’t stay here anymore.<br/>I care about you, so much. And I hope you were serious when you said you could never hate me, because if this doesn’t make you hate me, I don’t know what will. <br/>I’ll call you first- please don’t call me.</p><p>I’m really sorry. I’m sorry I can’t stay here anymore.</p><p>Sincerely,<br/>Sunshine”</p><p> </p><p>	And with that, you toss the pen aside and fold up the note. Where would he find this? You look around, then opt to slide it under his pillow. For all his tossing and turning, he’s bound to see it.<br/>With a sigh, you lift up your bag- the bottom gives way, seams ripping open and dropping your belongings on the floor. You frown. That can’t be a good sign.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>	When you walk downstairs with a bag (covered in duct tape?) over your shoulder, both Sans and Papyrus- who’s only just been filled in on the situation- jump to their feet. Papyrus, to your relief, is the first one to speak.</p><p> </p><p>“WHAT MY BROTHER DID WAS FOOLISH AND NOT THOUGHT THROUGH-“ he starts, but you put your hands up to stop him.</p><p>“That’s not the reason I’m leaving. I’ve been imposing for too long.”</p><p>“YOU HAVEN’T IMPOSED AT ALL. WE’VE BEEN MORE THAN HAPPY TO HAVE YOU HERE.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“THEN COME UP WITH A BETTER EXCUSE.”</p><p>“I… why do I need to?”</p><p>“BECAUSE I DON’T WANT YOU GOING OFF AND HURTING YOURSELF FOR NO REASON. YOU HAVE NOWHERE TO GO, AND NO ONE TO GO TO. AT LEAST COME UP WITH A REASON TO LEAVE.” </p><p>“You want a new reason.”</p><p>“YES. A REAL REASON, JUST FOR ME. NOT FOR SANS. IF YOU CAN TELL ME WHY YOU’VE DECIDED TO LEAVE, WHY YOU’VE REALLY DECIDED TO LEAVE, YOU MAY LEAVE.”</p><p>“papyrus,” Sans says, sounding worried, but his brother waves him off.</p><p>“I… want to say it’s because I feel like I owe you something. But I know you’ll say I don’t, so. I guess I probably, I just… I don’t feel comfortable here anymore. I… that’s not- that’s not your fault!” you add, hurriedly, at the look of heartbreak on both of their faces- “But I need to go somewhere I can feel more safe, and- and be on my own for a bit. I’m sorry to let you down.”</p><p>“I’m sorry we’ve made you feel unsafe here,” he says, in a quieter tone of voice.</p><p> </p><p>	After a long moment of staring at one another, Sans takes a few stumbling steps forward before pulling back, hesitating right in front of you on the stairs. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t make a move to hug you, though you can tell he wants to. His eyes look so, so desperate, and lost, like he has no idea what he’s going to do without you in his life. Which, he probably doesn’t.</p><p> </p><p>“sunshine, i’m so sorr-“</p><p>“Don’t be,” you say quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And don’t worry about me, I’ll figure something out.”</p><p> </p><p>	You look at him with something… different than you usually have. Something more disappointed, but harder. Colder. More distant. Like you’re already falling away too quickly for him to catch you. You walk by him, and before he can think he turns and hugs you, tightly. You quite obviously don’t like it, he can tell by the way you stiffen up when he touches you, but he can’t do anything to stop it. He can’t let you go without this.</p><p> </p><p>“please don’t get hurt,” he breathes, squeezing you. “please.”</p><p> </p><p>	For a second, he can feel your body relax a little, and your hands come up to hug back, lightly. Just a little. Just enough. </p><p> </p><p>“I won’t,” you assure him. “I’ll figure it out.”</p><p>“ok. ok, that’s a promise?”</p><p> </p><p>	You don’t say a word, just pull away from him gently and keep walking toward the door. Sans doesn’t comprehend much else- he’s panicking again, he can feel his consciousness going blurry. You and Papyrus hugged, and he offered you money- which you denied- and then you were gone. The only thing that truly brought him back to himself was when Papyrus pushed him onto the stairs roughly. His spine slammed against them, and he let out an awkward mix of a shout and a whimper. </p><p> </p><p>“hell’s that for?” he said weakly, turning to look at his brother. </p><p>“YOU DON’T DESERVE JACK SHIT, ESPECIALLY NOT THE RAY OF SUNSHINE YOU HAVE IN YOUR LIFE. NOT FOR LONG, THOUGH, NOT AFTER YOU TOOK HER FOR FUCKING GRANTED. THAT’S WHAT YOU TOLD ME YOU TOLD LIAM WHEN YOU HAD HIM PINNED AGAINST THAT WALL. DOES IT SOUND FAMILIAR TO YOU, SANS?”</p><p>“i-“ </p><p>“DOES IT?”</p><p>“i mean-“</p><p>“YOU KNOW IT DOES. YOU TOOK HER FOR GRANTED, SANS, AND YOU LOST HER- NOT JUST FOR YOU, BUT FOR ME, TOO. YOU TOLD HER SHE HAD TIME TO HEAL, AND A PLACE TO FEEL SAFE, AND YOU TOOK THAT AWAY FROM HER. NOW SHE’S GOING TO GET HURT IN WAYS WE COULDN’T IMAGINE, IN PLACES WE CAN’T HELP.”</p><p>“but i-"<br/>“OH, YES, MY BAD. YOU CONFESSED YOUR LOVE. I BET THAT MUST FEEL SO DAMN GOOD RIGHT ABOUT NOW.”</p><p> </p><p>	That left Sans speechless, and he was left looking at the floor in silence. In shame. Hypocrite.</p><p> </p><p>“WHEN AND IF SHE EVER COMES BACK, I WILL BE HANDLING IT. THE PREPARATIONS, THE TALKING, THE CARE. SHE TRUSTS ME. I HOPE YOU THINK WHAT YOU DID WAS WORTH IT, IDIOT.”</p><p> </p><p>	His boots thundering up the stairs, the door slammed. Sans could do nothing but watch. And then, when he was alone on the stairs, he wrapped his arms around his knees and cried, though he had no real right to. This is all his fault anyway.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>://////// ://///////</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Pain, Pain, Go Away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Don't read this one if you're already in a sad mood because bucko I've got some bad news for ya.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hahahahahahahahHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHhhhhhh</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Three weeks later. It took three weeks for Sans to find your letter, and he only really found it out of a shame and a desperation that he was only showing to himself.</p><p> </p><p>	Three weeks later, at three in the morning, Sans was awake- alone in his room, unable to sleep. Just like every other night this week, and every other night the week before that, and the week before that. Sleep doesn’t come easy to the guilty. Even if he never leaves his bed anymore. It feels like his soul is on fire, and not in the good way, either. It hurts. </p><p> </p><p>	Three weeks since you left, at three in the morning, Sans was awake, alone in his room, and he was so desperate for sleep. But the warmth and THEREness of your presence was gone. He finally stood and pulled on a sweater instead of the tank top he was wearing, trying to simulate some of your warmth. It wasn’t nearly enough, but with his hoodie on, too, it was close. Then, he pulled the pillow that you had used out of his closet, where he’d shoved it angrily when he discovered it still smelled like you. He lays in bed, swaddled in blankets and layers of clothes, protectively holding your pillow to his chest, burying his face into it, breathing in your scent. It’s enough to give him a pounding headache from holding back tears. </p><p> </p><p>	He realizes your pillow alone isn’t big enough to feel like you- it is, admittedly, smaller than you. He pulls his down, too, holding it to himself. And, maybe it would have worked, honestly. Maybe he would have been able to convince his sleep deprived body to rest. But there was a paper, rustling, rustling on his skull. He reached up to move it, glaring at the offending trash keeping him from his nap… but then he saw your handwriting. He jumped up, flicking on the light with his magic, not even bothering to acknowledge the resulting extra tiredness. You left him a note. God, he felt like a fool. How could he not have seen this?</p><p>	As he reads, his soul sinks heavier and heavier. You sound so burdened, and so nervous, and so, so sorry. He could probably stab you and you would apologize profusely for being in his way. But, besides all of your apologies and excuses and tired, desperate reasons, he focuses mostly on the last paragraph of your letter. he reads it over and over and over, burning the words into his mind.</p><p>“I care about you, so much. And I hope you were serious when you said you could never hate me, because if this doesn’t make you hate me, I don’t know what will.<br/>
I’ll call you first- please don’t call me.<br/>
I’m really sorry. I’m sorry I can’t stay here anymore.</p><p>Sincerely,<br/>
Sunshine”</p><p> </p><p>	I care about you. So much. Not just a little, not just enough. SO much. Those words are like honey on his sore soul, soothing and slow and sweet. They calm him, even if only a little. It’s like you’re right beside him, hugging him again. But, then the next line. “If this doesn’t make you hate me, I don’t know what will.” You’re out there somewhere, alone, tired, and maybe still without a place to live, and you think he hates you. </p><p>Honestly; anything but.<br/>
Then again, that’s why you left in the first place.</p><p>	And you promised to call him! That was something… if not, well, a lot. Because you don’t sound that sincere. But it’s a hope to cling to, and he needs one of those. “Sincerely, Sunshine.” </p><p>Sincerely. Sincerely means honestly, and wholly, and truthfully, and loyally. He hopes you didn’t just write it as the classic sign off to a letter like this. At least you didn’t put “love”, that would confuse the hell out of him.</p><p>Sunshine. That’s HIS name for you. That’s what he’s called you, day in and day out, for as long as you stayed with him. You brought the light into his life. You still do, even if it’s from a distance. The sun goes down, but it never goes away. If the sun went away, the earth would die. </p><p>	He thinks about that for a long moment.</p><p>	No… no, you’re not gone. You’re not dead. That would kill him. That would literally-</p><p> </p><p>	A knife-sharp STAB of pain crashes over his soul, and he instinctively throws his arms over his chest as if to block some kind of blow. It’s coming in acute, sharp, frequent waves, his chest is collapsing, every bone in his body is on fire, his soul is going to tear into pieces and fall out of his ribcage- why, what’s happened to you, what happened, are you hurt, dying, safe… another wave of pain follows immediately after, this one centered in his lower arm and tearing upwards. There’s a loud noise, somewhere around him, low and desperate and loud, and then on the edge of his consciousness Papyrus comes bursting into the room.</p><p> </p><p>“BROTHER, WHY IN THE WORLD ARE YOU SCREAMING?!”</p><p>“p- papyrus- i ca- an’t brea- breathe-“</p><p>“ARE YOU WOUNDED?!”</p><p>“she i- is, she is, she is, sh-she’s gon-n-na di- die-“</p><p>“WHAT ARE YOU GOING ON ABOUT?” he says, more lowly and sternly, worried.</p><p>And, just as quickly as it came, it feels like it’s subsided, drawn into darkness. Muffled pain, distant pain. He takes a harsh, jagged breath, balling up the sheets in his fists. </p><p> </p><p>“she’s hurt. she’s hurt bad. she’s not gonna make it.”</p><p>“WAS THIS A NIGHTMARE?”</p><p>“i felt it… i felt it in my soul. she’s fucked, boss, she’s never gonna… i don’t know how I survived that, she… oh, god…” he adds, curling into a ball and holding his skull in his hands. The look on his face makes him look like he might pass out.</p><p>“Did you… did you BOND with-“</p><p>“we didn’t bond, we didn’t, you can look’t m’soul, i just… i don’t know… it’s stopping, why is it STOPPING, where IS she!”</p><p> </p><p>	He pulls himself off his mattress and to his feet, only for his knees to give out as he makes a few steps. Papyrus swiftly catches him before he hits the floor, but doesn’t hold him. He merely steadies his shoulders. </p><p> </p><p>“YOU ARE NOT GOING TO GO LOOKING FOR HER. IF SHE IS DEAD, WE WILL FIND OUT SOON ENOUGH.”</p><p>“no…” his head is pounding from the not-crying, his body is tense and shaking…</p><p>“COME. YOU NEED TO SLEEP SOMEWHERE OTHER THAN THAT CRUMMY MATTRESS, AND YOU NEED A BEVERAGE. WE STILL HAVE HOT CHOCOLATE.”</p><p>“i need a drink, paps…”</p><p>“I KNOW YOU DO, BUT IT WON’T BE ANYTHING ALCOHOLIC. YOU’RE ALREADY A HYPOCRITE, YOU DON’T NEED TO HEIGHTEN THE SIMILARITIES BETWEEN YOURSELF AND THAT DISGUSTING HUMAN. COME ON, YOU’LL SLEEP IN MY ROOM FOR THE NIGHT.”</p><p>“papyrus, kill me… kill me, too…”</p><p>“NO. I WON’T HAVE ANY OF THAT. COME ON.”</p><p> </p><p>	Sans stumbles down the hallway, holding on tightly to Papyrus and leaning his head in his hand. Shit. You’re gone. What is he supposed to do now?</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>	Papyrus was standing in the new bedroom when he heard Sans scream- the new bedroom used to be a small office in-between their bedrooms, but had just been used as a roomy junk closet until now. Now? He’s been pouring himself into cleaning it out and making it into a suitable bedroom. It’s his way of grieving for you. He knows, deep down, that it’s highly unlikely you’ll ever be coming back to them. But if you do, he doesn’t want to make the same mistake twice. You need to feel safe, and you can’t do that without some space of your own. </p><p> </p><p>	He’s done everything he can think of, pushing away the thought that eventually, he would run out of little tasks to do and he would just be left with a too-quiet house, a too-sad brother, and a stack of papers on his desk that he needs to fill out to wrap up Liam’s case. So he’s pulled out all the stops. He’s repainted the walls a soft grey, and the ceiling, too. Normally, painting ceilings is difficult, but to someone of his height, it was just a matter of looking up a bit. He tossed the softest rugs he could find at thrift stores over the hardwood. A twin-size bed- the cheapest one he could find- and some covers and blankets and things. He was trying to just, make it comfortable for you. As safe as he could. He tried to make it where, if you really wanted, you might not have to leave the room much at all. A desk, a nightstand, a little mini-fridge thing. Blankets, and books, and soft lights. He’s been spending the last few days attaching little strings of tiny lights to the ceiling. The packages said “fairy lights”, which he thought was stupid, as the fairies were a vicious species, and they were killed on the front lines of the human-monster war. They had a vicious bite, he was always told. These little twinkly lights had nothing on a good angry fairy. But they looked nice.</p><p> </p><p>	Sans’ method of mourning was, of course, staying in his room, trying to sleep off his problems, and hiding from any memories of you. Papyrus had to move the dry-erase board on the fridge before his brother would go down and get anything out of it. And they’ve called it mourning, privately to themselves, because they don’t know whether or not you’re dead. At this point, it feels like you might as well be. </p><p> </p><p>	But when Papyrus heard Sans yell, late at night, he jumped to his feet off of what would hopefully someday be your bed. When he burst into his brother’s room, he was screaming, clawing at his chest, curled into a tight ball, gasping for air. And even though the younger brother was terrified, he yelled like he wasn’t.</p><p> </p><p>“BROTHER, WHY IN THE WORLD ARE YOU SCREAMING?!”</p><p>“p- papyrus- i ca- an’t brea- breathe-“</p><p>“ARE YOU WOUNDED?!” he said, trying to keep the edge of nervousness out of his voice.</p><p>“she i- is, she is, she is, sh-she’s gon-n-na di- die-“</p><p>“WHAT ARE YOU GOING ON ABOUT?” he half-growled. No… no, no you aren’t dying. Sans’ body seems to relax a little, but the panic in his eyesockets only grows.</p><p>“she’s hurt. she’s hurt bad. she’s not gonna make it.”</p><p>“WAS THIS A NIGHTMARE?” </p><p>“i felt it… i felt it in my soul. she’s fucked, boss, she’s never gonna… i don’t know how I survived that, she… oh, god…” he adds, curling into a ball and holding his skull in his hands. The look on his face makes him look like he might pass out.</p><p>“Did you… did you BOND with-“</p><p>“we didn’t bond, we didn’t, you can look’t m’soul, i just… i don’t know… it’s stopping, why is it STOPPING, where IS she!”</p><p> </p><p>	He stumbled out of bed, almost falling, but Papyrus caught him by his shoulders and held him up.</p><p> </p><p>“YOU ARE NOT GOING TO GO LOOKING FOR HER. IF SHE IS DEAD, WE WILL FIND OUT SOON ENOUGH,” he said, sternly.</p><p>“no…”</p><p>“COME. YOU NEED TO SLEEP SOMEWHERE OTHER THAN THAT CRUMMY MATTRESS, AND YOU NEED A BEVERAGE. WE STILL HAVE HOT CHOCOLATE.”</p><p>“i need a drink, paps…”</p><p>“I KNOW YOU DO, BUT IT WON’T BE ANYTHING ALCOHOLIC. YOU’RE ALREADY A HYPOCRITE, YOU DON’T NEED TO HEIGHTEN THE SIMILARITIES BETWEEN YOURSELF AT THAT DISGUSTING HUMAN. COME ON, YOU’LL SLEEP IN MY ROOM FOR THE NIGHT.”</p><p>“papyrus, kill me… kill me, too…”</p><p>“NO. I WON’T HAVE ANY OF THAT. COME ON.”</p><p> </p><p>	Papyrus masked his worry for you. He could hold all his feelings at bay until he had a good, true answer as to what happened to you. Tomorrow he could go searching. For now, though, he loops an arm around his brother and leads him downstairs to the couch. It’s lumpy, but not as lumpy as his mattress. Once he’s laying down on it, he goes to make some hot chocolate. For the both of them. Lord knows they both need it. </p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>	When you stepped out of Papyrus’ and Sans’ house, you tried to be optimistic. It would be an adventure, living out here, finding your way. The main character in a movie, struggling to find her purpose. </p><p> </p><p>	Three weeks in, you’re reminded painfully of how untrue that is.</p><p> </p><p>	It’s like a cliché from a bad movie- you’re under a freeway overpass, drenched with the rain. It’s so cold out here when it rains, when the water soaks through your clothes, it feels like the wind is cutting right through you. You’re busy changing clothes, trying your best to dry off, patching the bottom of your bag for the third time since you left. You found a roll of duct tape, so you were using that, but now that it’s all wet on the inside of your bag it struggles to stick to anything. It’s cold, and it’s tiring, and you’re so, so hungry, but it doesn’t matter. Because out here you feel free.</p><p> </p><p>	Free, that was your original incentive to come out here. Freedom, far, far away from anyone who would want you, who would want to hold you down. You’re on your own, and it’s an exhilarating feeling. So why does it feel so lonely? You miss listening to someone else talk, maybe not to you, but just in general. A voice mumbling about needing to add milk to the shopping list, a whistle as someone waters potted plants, the low hum next to your ear as someone wraps their arms around you, whispering their good mornings- the wind slices across your face, like it’s slapping you back to reality. You like being free, don’t you? You LIKE being alone.</p><p> </p><p>	But, deep down, you know you don’t. And you feel like maybe it would be different if you knew that your leaving wouldn’t have hurt them so badly, but the looks on their faces before you closed the door, well- Papyrus looked deathly disappointed, and Sans looked… heartbroken. Every time you call that expression of his to your face you regret leaving. You hate regretting things, but a look like that from someone you love that much is hard to forget…</p><p> </p><p>	Wait.<br/>
You love him.</p><p> </p><p>	The realization feels like a sucker-punch to the gut, a slap in the face, a splash of pain on your already aching body. You’re alone, and you’re hungry, and you’re cold, and you’re soaked through with rain, and you love him. And you regret leaving him behind. No, you aren’t quite ready to love someone that much just yet: you’re apprehensive and distrustful of the idea right now. But you’re warming up to it, with every wistful thought of him that pains you and every memory of his warmth and gentleness. He was ready to love you the moment he brought you out of your house, and even though you weren’t, he always had his arms open. He was just waiting for you to be ready. And, yeah, he made a mistake. A mistake that, well- it hurt you. And it scared you. More than it should have.</p><p>	But it was just that: a mistake. And you could forgive mistakes. In order to do that, though, you have to go home. His home. Their home. Your home. The thought of returning to them filled you with something excited and happy: you hadn’t realized how unhappy you were until now.</p><p> </p><p>	Unfortunately, as soon as you stood up, started walking on the sidewalk that paralleled the highway, there was a screech, and a flash of headlights- and </p><p>everything</p><p>went</p><p>dark.</p><p> </p><p>	Your consciousness faded in and out; you caught yelling, and footsteps, ad a roaring-loud siren. You felt like a horse- hell, a whole team of horses- had stampeded over your chest, and a couple had gone back just to tear your arm to shreds. The world spun when you opened your eyes, so you kept them shut. There were groans of pain, but you were pretty sure they were yours. People were moving you, and shifting you, and hurting, hurting, hurting you, and you wanted it to stop. Where was Sans when you needed him? </p><p> </p><p>	You were lifted up, and a cup was fitted over your mouth. You felt alone. But you could have sworn Sans was there, murmuring reassurances and pressing kisses to your forehead… you started to cry as his body dissolved into a hundred thousand red butterflies.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>im ready for those pissed emails to start rolling in</p><p>for every "how dare you" i get im gonna send a verse to "Never Gonna Give You Up" because I think we could all stand to laugh right now</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Hospital Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Missing people are found, hurt people are healing, and Sans isn't dormant in his room anymore.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HOW DARE NONE OF YOU TOLD ME I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN 13 DAYS<br/>I FEEL BAD NOW I TOTALLY LOST TRACK OF TIME</p><p>aaaaAAAAA</p><p>have an extra long chapter how DARE yall</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were new dates, Papyrus thought. Before last night, there wasn’t yesterday, today and tomorrow. There was only the number of days since you left. That was how they calculated how time had passed. Now, however, there was another date on the calendar. There was the day of Sans’ ‘nightmare’, of course: and there was the day in the future, hazy and far too close, when they would find out you died. Now, they don’t KNOW if you’re dead: but they aren’t stupid. And after Sans had that terrifying connection to the pain that overcame you (or so he says), it’s generally assumed that you were killed somehow. </p><p>	Sans doesn’t hide in his room anymore, sulking. Now he sits on the couch, rigid and anxious, playing the news at top volume like an old man so as not to miss a word. He needs to know if any civilians were killed in traffic: it’s the only thing he can think of, his only chance. If you were mugged or kidnapped or something, he would never see it on the news unless you were found dead: but if you’re alive, you’re still out there, wounded and alone. He can’t bear that thought. So he watches the news, and he waits for it all to end.</p><p>	Papyrus has been out and about, trying to see if there are any signs of you anywhere in the city. Every day when he comes home, Sans turns around on the couch, searching his eyes. And every day, a slight shake of his head. The tension in the house is palpable, and the depressing atmosphere is horrifying to be in. Even Papyrus, clean freak that he is, has neglected cleaning up the mess that’s started accumulating in the kitchen and living room from Sans’ practically living there. </p><p>	And this all should be much, much worse: if it was going on any longer. But it isn’t, because the phone is ringing. And that is going to change some things.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello,” Papyrus says- he answers it, mostly because Sans is asleep. (Finally.)</p><p>“Hello! Um- so, weird question,” the speaker stutters. The voice is decidedly male, if a bit high and nervous. He sounds like the type of person who would wear a sweater vest, if that makes any sense.</p><p>“Erm- go ahead?”</p><p>“Are you looking- I mean, uh, heheh, before I ask that, are you Sans?”</p><p>“Oh- no, that’s my brother,” he says, curiously. “He’s here, he’s just asleep.”</p><p>“Uh, so, uh- cool, she was- okay. I really gotta pull myself together. Phew.”</p><p>“Who is ‘she’?” Papyrus jumps on it quickly. </p><p>“Are you looking for anyone? Like… a woman in her, uh… I mean, I know you should never guess a woman’s age, but I would guess, like, early twenties? Maybe late twenties? Brown hair. We don’t know her name yet.”</p><p>“YES, WE ARE!” he exclaimed- “Oh- don’t hang up! I am sorry, I have a tendency to yell. Or so I’m told. But, yes, we’ve been looking for her for a while now, do you know where she is? May I speak with her?”</p><p>“I- oh my god, you have no idea what a relief that is. I’ve been looking through the phone directory for hours, you don’t have a last name and- um, what’s your name?”</p><p>“Papyrus. You’re correct, we don’t exactly have a last name. I’m sorry if that was any trouble.”<br/>“No, no-no-no, not at all! Uh, okay, but- about the lady here, uh- what’s her name?” Papyrus tells him, hurriedly, tripping over the syllables. “Oh, okay, uh, her. So. Are you, um, her dad or uncle or brother or something? Because this might be hard to hear."</p><p>“Her friend. My brother and I are the only family she has in the state,” he says, nervously.</p><p>“Okay, okay, cool… um. She was in an accident.”</p><p> </p><p>	Papyrus feels his soul fall into his gut, and it shows clearly on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Is she dead?”<br/>“That’s- that’s in the air right now. She’s having her third surgery- um, right now. Like she’s in it as we speak.”</p><p>“What… what happened to her?”</p><p>“She was- I’m so, so sorry about this- she was walking on the sidewalk right beside the highway. It was raining, it was freezing out, the road was frozen over. My car hydroplaned. I went off the road and hit her- and, and the car flipped on top of her. I’m fine- I mean, I sprained my ankle, but that’s not important. She has a lot of injuries, um- a collapsed lung, some internal bleeding, a concussion, and a lot of broken ribs. Her arm is really badly broken, too. She hasn’t been recovering well, uh, her doctor says it’s because of stress. She keeps asking for a ‘Sans’, and I thought if I was going to help make up for what happened I should- I should find him. So, um. Here we are.”</p><p>“You… you’ve been staying with her?”</p><p>“I have. I live alone, so, uh- it’s no big deal. Nobody’s gonna miss me back there, except my plants… heh.”</p><p>“Well. Thank you very much for staying with her this long- if you would send me the address, my brother and I will be right there.”</p><p>“Will! I mean, I will totally do that. For you. Yeah.”<br/>“Thank you again. It means the world to us you were taking care of her.”</p><p>“No problem. Glad I could help.”</p><p>“Does she need anything? Changes of clothes?”</p><p>“She had a bag of clothes with her during the accident, and a computer, for some reason. I broke that- I’ll replace it, I swear- but the clothes were dirty, so I washed them at home and stuff. She’s got all that. I think all she needs now is you two, heh.”</p><p>“Alright. Goodbye- what was your name?”</p><p>“Ted.”</p><p>“Goodbye, Ted.”</p><p>“Bye, Papyrus!”</p><p> </p><p>	And with that, he hung up. Wow. Okay. You’re alive, if not doing very well at it, and you’re with someone who genuinely cares about you, and has gone lengths to show it. He leans on the wall for a minute, taking a deep breath. He feels small- not only because he’s taken his boots off. He feels small because he feels powerless, for the first time in a while. And it shakes him. Okay. Okay. Time to wake up Sans.</p><p> </p><p>	With that thought, he shakes off some of his insecurities and runs into the living room, shaking his brother’s shoulder. Sans blinks awake, soul still heavy, to meet his brother’s eyes. They look excited, and scared, and sad. Well. It’s a change from just plain scared and sad. </p><p> </p><p>“whazhappenin?” he asks, lazily, but curiously. </p><p>“Someone has found her.”</p><p> </p><p>	His face looks frozen in shock, but then he sits up and grabs Papyrus tightly by the arm- almost painfully so. His voice drops deep and threatening as he meets his eyes again.</p><p> </p><p>“you tell me if you’re telling me the truth or if this is a joke.”</p><p>“Sans,” he says, almost nervous. “It’s the truth. I just got the call from a man at the hospital.”</p><p>His grip goes slack, his eyelights weak and blurry. “so she’s dead.”</p><p>“No. Wounded, maybe fatally so, they don’t know yet- but not dead. She needs you.”</p><p> </p><p>	That… well, that puts hope in his soul. Not a lot, but enough to get him standing.</p><p> </p><p>“what the hell are we waiting for, then?”</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>	Ted Waterson. Even his name sounds like the kind of guy who would eat plain Saltines while watching wildlife documentaries. His build and paleness, not to mention his voice, reflect this. And, yeah. He likes sweater vests. But he is an adventurer! He drives a Jeep!</p><p>	Uh.</p><p>	Used to, before he totaled it.</p><p>	On you.</p><p>	When he felt the thud, and the crunch, and when he went head over heels as his car flipped, he immediately knew something was wrong. He didn’t call an ambulance just yet- first he found a way to yank himself out of the vehicle, and then pull you out from under it. Luckily, only your arm was under after it flipped, and not your whole body, but he had definitely spun into your chest. You coughed blood onto your shirt, and tears streamed down your face, mingled with the cold rain. That was when he called 911. You looked so scared, and so sad. Desperate. Even then, right after it happened, you were clutching onto him, gasping with pain, eyes wide and fuzzy, and murmuring the word. </p><p>“Sans. Get- get Sans.”</p><p>“I will, just relax, I will,” he said, over and over. You started crying harder in the ambulance after they put the gas mask on your face to knock you out. He couldn’t think of why, other than the pain. But he was worried about you. Ted Waterson may live alone, but he does have two little sisters. And you having a stark resemblance to one of them doesn’t help his anxiety over you at all. However, it did give him good motivation to help you as best he could. </p><p> </p><p>	And that started with calling Sans, which meant finding his number, which meant searching for hours for someone with a last name and finding someone without one. Sans. That was it. After a short, awkward, nerve wracking call, they: because apparently Sans has a brother- promised to come. He hoped they weren’t as intimidating as Papyrus sounded on the phone.</p><p> </p><p>	However, one glance at them in the lobby was, no doubt, a bit of a shock. For one, they were monsters. Skeleton monsters, to be precise, which he’d never seen before. Second, they looked as if they were NORMALLY very intimidating, but right now they were too worried to be. </p><p>	The shorter and rounder of the two was seated in a chair, biting the inside of his thumb. He had big, anxious round eyes, and he was wearing a soft red turtleneck and sweatpants. It all looked looked much too big on him. He looked like he’d changed into the outfit in a hurry. </p><p>	The taller, thinner (and much more scary looking) one of them was pacing rapidly up and down the lobby, arms folded behind his back, a creased frown on his face. He looks like the one to talk to, out of the two. He wondered which one was Sans…</p><p> </p><p>	After taking a deep breath, Ted comes out from the back, headed for him. He notices immediately and crosses over to the small human in a few strides. </p><p> </p><p>“Papyrus,” he says, firmly but quietly, holding out a hand. Ted shakes it, smiling sheepishly.</p><p>“Ted.”</p><p>“And Sans is the one sitting over there.”</p><p>“I figured,” he lies quietly, not wanting to be rude. “He looks worried.”</p><p>“Aren’t we all. How are things? Is the surgery over yet?”</p><p>“Almost- they said it would take a few hours when they started, and that was about, uh, five hours ago, so I think they have to be close to being done. I’ll bring you to her room when it’s over, though. You signed in at the front office and everything?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Okay, uh- I can probably bring you back now, and you can be there when they bring her back there? I’m not sure what the protocol is for this kind of thing. I can probably, um, ask someone…”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>	There’s a seconds hesitation, then Papyrus says, quietly,</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for waiting for us, and for watching her. We would be very troubled if she was left here on her own. And- and you found us, as well. Not many humans would have done that for us. So, if you need anything- a favor, I suppose- then I’m happy to oblige. You are a good man.”</p><p> </p><p>	Surprised at the sudden praise, Ted blushes a little. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh- I’m really not very- it’s no trouble. I’m just glad someone came other than me. I might have just up and adopted her if nobody else had come along. So thank you. And you’re welcome. And I’m very sorry for getting us here in the first place.”</p><p>“It is alright. It was an accide- is that her?”</p><p> </p><p>	Ted turns around when Papyrus pinpoints a hospital bed wheeling towards one of the private rooms, with a brown-haired woman inside.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, that’s her room- alright, you want to go in?”</p><p>“Yes. Sans!”</p><p> </p><p>	Sans looks up from his spot in the chairs when his brother and the human start walking away. Oh, finally. Getting somewhere. Closer to you, hopefully. He wasn’t really listening to their conversation. They follow you and walk into a room- 404, Sans makes note, in case he needs to remember it later. And then, there you are, passed out in the thin sheets, hair splayed out over the pillow. A nurse is fixing you up to an IV drip, which annoys him a little. She sticks a needle into your arm (as if you aren’t hurt enough already) but he assumes it has a purpose of some kind.</p><p>“Oh, visitors, that’s great,” she says tiredly, smiling at him and Papyrus. “She’s been by herself for a while now- well, except for this gentleman. She’ll be waking up in a few minutes, but she’ll be still under a lot of pain medication, so she’s not going to be herself. Say weird things, ask weird things of you, whatever. She won’t remember much of it later, though.”</p><p> </p><p>	After she’s made her speech, she heads out the door- Sans impatiently pushes past Ted and Papyrus and sits in the chair closest to you. He knows it’s stupid, but his first instinct is checking you for visible injuries (which he finds plenty of, including your arm in a cast, a white bandage on your head, and your torso wrapped in white cloth) and his second is to reach out and hold your hand, which is folded across your bandaged ribcage. </p><p> </p><p>“hey,” he says, softly, searching your face for a response. He gets none- you’re passed out pretty hard- but he tries anyway. “hey, sunshine, i’m here.”</p><p>“She can’t hear you,” Ted puts in, awkwardly. “But for how much she’s been asking for you, I think it’s good you’re here now.”</p><p>“she’s been asking for me?” he asks, turning to look at him. “really?”</p><p>“All the time. It’s all she can do to stay awake, but when she can, she asks for you nonstop. That’s why I called.”</p><p>“oh… shit, i really… thank you.”</p><p>“No problem. I’m glad you guys are, uh, together again. Are you two-“</p><p>“friends,” he says, firmly, eyelights going dark as he turns his face back to you.</p><p>“Oh- friends.” Ted repeats, nodding.</p><p> </p><p>	Papyrus takes a seat beside Ted, and they start to talk about your condition in low voices. Sans isn’t listening to them anymore, all of his attention focused on you. Shit. He got you out of one bad situation, and then got you right back into another one. What kind of friend is he? He can’t even keep you safe for one minute. He holds on to your hand tighter, then touches your face gently with the other. It feels a little awkward, since you’re asleep and all, but it still feels so, so good to feel your gentle warmth again. The way you radiate peace like a blanket washing over him. Speaking of, the blankets on this bed are terrible. He needs to bring you some of yours from home. You need the comfort. </p><p> </p><p>	Almost on cue of that thought, you groan and blink open your eyes, looking around- your pupils are dilated, and you squint at everything like it’s blurry. The pain meds, if Sans had to guess. You look utterly miserable. Papyrus and Ted turn around in their seats to look at you, but you curl one of the thin blankets on your bed over your head to block out the bright lights.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’ wanna look at the sun…” you grumble.</p><p>Sans chuckles- the first honest laugh he’s had since you left. “good thing we’re inside, then, i think.”</p><p> </p><p>	You pull back the blankets, squinting at him. Your eyes go wide at the same time his crinkle up happily.</p><p> </p><p>“heya, sunshine.”</p><p>“Sans?” you ask, a bit loudly. You hold your arms out and hug him, tightly, around his middle. He accepts it gratefully, holding you to himself while making sure you don’t twist your ribs or arm the wrong way.</p><p>“that’s my name.”</p><p>“You came…” you murmur, looking up at him. “Even after I was mean… I was so mean…”</p><p>“no, no, you weren’t mean. it’s ok.”</p><p> </p><p>	You pull away, sinking into the bed and looking positively crushed.</p><p> </p><p>“I was such a… such a meanie…”</p><p>Sans snorts, shaking his head at you. “it’s fine.”</p><p>“Oh! I can make it better!” you exclaim. </p><p>“can you now?” he asks, sitting his chin in his hand and watching your drugged brain come up with a plan. You look like basic addition would take every brain cell you have. It’s hilarious, and relieving. It’s like all the tension is ebbing away with every stupid thing you try to do.</p><p>“I have like really good news. Like, really good… I figured it out before I got crashed- I was gonna go home when I figured it out, but now I’m here.”</p><p>“you were gonna go home?”</p><p>“Yeah… but, I love you! That’s the good news.”</p><p> </p><p>	He looks at you for a second, trying to hide his shock. Wow, you’re way higher than he thought you were. </p><p> </p><p>“uh. sunshine, i think that’s what got us into this mess in the first place.”</p><p>“No, I do- I was out there, and I was thinking about you, and… and I missed you a lot. Like, a lot a lot.”</p><p> </p><p>“heh. thanks, doll.”</p><p>“…You’re not gonna poof again, are you?”</p><p>“poof?”</p><p>“You were there, in the ambulance, and you were holding my hand, and then you went poof.”</p><p>“oh… nah. i’m not poofin’ on ya anytime soon. i’m right here.”</p><p>“You gotta promise me- promise me you’re not gonna go poof.”</p><p>“i promise.”</p><p>“Okay. Okay. I gotta stay ‘wake, or I’m gonna go again,” you mumble, the little energy you had while talking to him drained out of you. “Help me stay awake.”</p><p>“no, doll, you gotta sleep. you look tired.”</p><p>“‘M not… tired.”</p><p>“you’re already passin’ out. sleep. i’ll be right here. i promise.”</p><p> </p><p>	You look at him with your fuzzy eyes, then look down to where his fingers are interlocked with yours, squeezing his hand experimentally. He squeezes back, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb, meeting your eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“sleep, sunshine. i’m not leaving. you’re safe with me.” You don’t resist this time. He sighs, relieved and content, as sleep takes you. “there ya go.”</p><p>“Just friends my ass,” Papyrus mutters. Sans looks up, half embarrassed and half angry, glaring at him. Ted is just sitting in silence, eyes watering. Sans is the first to notice.</p><p>“you good?” he asks, gruff, but sincere.</p><p>“I… you really… I mean, I just. Everyone I’ve talked to says monsters are just- terrible, and you guys really… prove that wrong,” he laughs, embarrassedly, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes. “You care about her a lot. Makes me want to call my sisters.”</p><p>“oh,” Sans mumbles, looking away. “nah. i’m still an asshole, and i know it, she just… yeah. she’s different.”</p><p>“That’s true,” Papyrus nods. </p><p>“Well… it’s probably an outdated view, but I think there’s good in everyone. And she brings out the good in you. I hope she’s alright.”</p><p> </p><p>	Sans is quiet after that. Hope. Hope she’s alright. Yeah, he’d nearly forgotten that the threat of your death still looms overhead. But he can’t lose you. Not after all of this- not after everything he hasn’t gotten to apologize for yet. Because Ted is right; you truly bring out the best in him. And if what you said was, in fact, true: that you loved him, that you realized it while you were out there in the middle of who-knows-where, that you wanted to come home… well, he would never forgive himself if he couldn’t bring that to reality. </p><p>	But why worry about something that’s outside of his control?</p><p>	He promised you he would stay with you, and if you’re asleep it’s the perfect opportunity for him to take a nap, too. His sleep schedule has been pretty bad lately. So, with that, he sets his head on the side of the bed- it’s not too uncomfortable, if a little odd-looking- beside you, keeping his eyes on you until he falls asleep for the first time in weeks. </p><p>	What a day.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>there!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! you go!!!!!!!!!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. And What Do We Say When We Mess Up?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sorry.</p><p>This a happy-chappy.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yo school has started and i dont know how much time i'll have to keep writing this but the next few chapters will update regularly with luck</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When you wake up, you’re drowsy, exhausted, and there’s an ache in your ribs and in the arm where the IV is. You have a faint sense in your head, like you feel like you should be happy, but you don’t know why. However, a glance over at the usually empty chair on your right answers the question- Sans is sitting there, his head sitting on the edge of your mattress, and his arm snaking across your middle to hold your half-casted hand. You feel… a lot of things. <br/>The first is relief. He’s here, he’s finally here, he found you. He must be worried sick, you think: you’ve gone into surgery three times now, and each time you’re drugged longer than the last. They must be concerned that you’re not gonna make it. <br/>The second thing you feel is guilty, because of scaring them. You were going to go home and make everything right, and you messed that up fantastically. <br/>Thirdly, nerves. You’re going to have to tell him how you feel, if not today then some other day. And you’re going to have to tell him that you might not be completely ready yet, but that you do, eventually, want to be in a serious relationship with him.</p><p> </p><p>	But when he feels you shift, and he blinks awake… it all just fades into a mix of joy and regret. You feel like you should feel disgusted or hurt, but you’re just happy. And it confuses you. When he looks up and sees your troubled expression, he pulls his hand away from yours hurriedly, sitting up and sliding his chair away.</p><p> </p><p>“sorry,” he coughs, looking down at his shoes. You notice now that he’s wearing a turtleneck. He looks different in it. More… himself. “sorry, you wanted me to- while you were on the pain meds.”</p><p>“I wanted you to hold my hand?”</p><p>“yeah.”</p><p>“Oh… okay. Where’s Papyrus?” you ask, quickly trying to change the subject.</p><p>“he’s out getting breakfast for me. uh- we’re not supposed to bring you anything, um, because your blood, or something. sorry.” He mumbles and wraps his arms around himself. “‘m really sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>	He doesn’t break his eye contact with the floor, but his eyelights are small and the smile on his face is wobbly and forced. He’s scared. Heartbroken, still. Waiting for the harsh comments he thinks he deserves from you. Waiting for you to scream that you wish he wasn’t here. You won’t. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to, with him looking so broken like that. But you don’t want to. You wanted to see him again so badly, and here he is. You put a hand out toward him, on the sheets. An inviting pat for him to come closer.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” you say, quietly. “Well- it’s not. But I forgive you.” </p><p> </p><p>(He can tell you aren’t talking about missing breakfast.)</p><p> </p><p>“thanks.”</p><p>“Yeah. Um. I’m sorry, too. For leaving, and getting all of us into this mess.”</p><p>“i forgive ya. don’t do it again, though, will ya?”</p><p>“Yeah… definitely.”</p><p> </p><p>	You aren’t looking at each other, aren’t moving, barely breathing. You become aware the cast on your arm makes you look in even worse shape than you already are, so you slide it under the covers, simultaneously pulling back your offered hand when you see he hasn’t noticed it. Then, you mutter,</p><p> </p><p>“I swear I’ll get a job after this, I want to help pay off my medical bill… it’ll be astronomical.”</p><p>“nah, ya don’t gotta worry about that,” he says, grinning to himself, still wobbly, but with more mirth. “papyrus’ been gettin’ a lotta sympathy with his cop friends, or whatever. people’a been pitchin’ in for you. we’ll figure it out.”</p><p>“I… I’ll pay you back eventually.”</p><p>“ya don’t owe me, or anything. really,” he adds, when he sees the flash of doubt on your face. He sobers himself a little, dropping the forced smile. “it’s ok. if this is all over and you never want to see me again, that’s fine, you don’t owe me jack shit, but… at least let m- us help you first. i was- we were worried.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“i mean, yeah. we were fuckin’- we were just so- we thought you might be, well, gone. like. gone-gone. i don’t want to say it, but, y’know.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“yeah. hasn’t been much fun at the house without you.”</p><p>“Oh. Um. Thanks?”</p><p>“no, i- yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>	He watches your face for a moment, nervous. You look like you’re about to collapse in on yourself. You reach a hand up and sniff, scrubbing at your eyes. He can see the conflict in you- he taught you it was okay to cry with him, that it was okay to feel things, but it’s obvious you don’t want him to see this. But he can’t help but stand and cross over to you, hesitating, but then hugging you gently. Your arms curl around his back as best they can, and you tuck your head into the side of his, sniffing.</p><p> </p><p>“I missed you so much,” you breathe. He can hear your heart pounding as you say it, and he can feel his soul thud in response.</p><p>“you too,” he replies, squeezing you closer. </p><p>“I thought that I could- I thought that I would want to be alone, but you made me not want that anymore, I… you fucked up, we both know that, but I don’t CARE, I still… I missed you more than anything.”</p><p>“sunshine…”</p><p>“I missed your voice, and- and your hugs, and your smile, and the way you would hold me, and- and-“</p><p>“shh… ’s ok. i know.”</p><p>“You don’t… I don’t get it, I…”</p><p>“relax, doll, ’s ok. ‘m just so glad you’re safe.”</p><p> </p><p>	He maneuvers himself so he can climb up next to you to hug you better. You have to move your arm so he doesn’t bump into your IV, and the hug is a bit clunky around your heavy cast, but you quickly accept him up next to you. He doesn’t seem to mind it, his eyes fixated on your face.</p><p> </p><p>“I hurt you,” you finally manage, after a moment. “And I can’t fix it. It was so stupid.”</p><p>“it’s not your fault, it’s mine. and, besides, you were gonna come home,” he says, emphatically. “you were so close.”</p><p>“How… how did you know?”</p><p>“oh. uh, you told me a lot of stuff while you were under the pain drug stuff,” he shrugs. (If you really do love him, you’ll tell him on your own time. No point mentioning it now.) “you said you were on your way back to us when you got hit.”</p><p>“Oh… yeah, I was.”</p><p>“i’m still… our place is still home to you and everythin’, right?”</p><p> </p><p>	God, he looks even weaker than you. Like you could shatter him with one word, even as he holds you in sturdy arms.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” you admit. “Yeah, you are.”</p><p>He notices your choice of words, but doesn’t comment on them. “glad.”</p><p> </p><p>	You shuffle forward and hug him again- well, sort of. You basically just lean your body on his and let him hold you. </p><p> </p><p>“missed this,” he chuckles, awkwardly. “you, i mean. ‘m sorry again.”</p><p>“Same and same… do you mind if I sleep?”</p><p>“nah, i’ll move for ya.”</p><p> </p><p>	You both scoot a bit so you can fall asleep leaning on him, with a good bit of room for your cast. He runs his fingers though your bedhead while you doze off. You hum, tucking in as close as you can. You must have really missed this… missed being held. It makes his soul dip in his chest, thinking about it. You’ve missed him.  It makes him happy to know you had something to hold onto while you were gone. You roll over, open drowsy eyes to look at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Sans…?”</p><p>“heya.”</p><p>“If I die, you aren’t gonna hurt yourself, are you?”</p><p> </p><p>	Oh. Uh- well.</p><p> </p><p>“no… no, i wouldn’t,” (he lies,) “no point in askin’, though. you’re makin’ it whether you like it or not. just… get some rest, alright?”</p><p>“Heh… okay.”</p><p> </p><p>	With that, you fall asleep, your head on his chest. He pulls the blankets up over you and follows suit, worries settled in his soul. He hopes this all works out.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~</p><p>	When Papyrus walks in holding pancakes from a drive-thru down the street, he was honestly expecting to walk in on an awkward conversation between you and his brother. What he wasn’t expecting was to see you, asleep on his chest, curled up as best you can without twisting your abdomen or hitting him with your cast. You look deathly tired, and also rather starved. Your arms are thinner than he remembers, not to mention the rest of your body. Your bandages are fraying at the edges, and he speculates that they need to be changed. Your hair is a mess. You really need a shower, from the looks of it. Sans is asleep, too, holding your hand loosely enough to deny that he ever was, but tightly enough to make his point to you. </p><p> </p><p>	He can’t wait until you’re allowed back at home with him and Sans: you’ll have a bedroom now, a place for all of your bathroom things, anything he failed to provide you with the last time you stayed with them. He sets the pancakes on the bedside table, sighing at the empty room. Ted left yesterday, something about visiting his sisters. He left you a get well card, a bit of cash for your medical bills, and a new computer to replace your broken one. As if the poor man hadn’t done enough. </p><p> </p><p>	Sans twitches in his sleep, catching his brother’s attention. His hands clench and unclench, fists to bared claws, and his breathing is heavier. Before he can say a word, however, you roll over on your side, leaning some more of your weight on him. He takes a sharp breath, then seems to slip back into a normal sleep. You two really are on the same wavelength. Papyrus sighs, and sinks into one of the chairs next to your bed. Maybe he should get new curtains for your bedroom. Dark red ones. Maybe with stars sewn on. He could do that.</p><p> </p><p>	He could do that as your friend.</p><p>	It feels weird to call you his friend. Really, you’ve always been Sans’ friend. An acquaintance. How foolish of him: after all that he’s been through with you. So, yes. He makes the mental decision that you two are now, in fact, friends.</p><p>	The choice is relieving.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Ow.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Whoops my hand slipped its angst again</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is a storm of clawing fingers grabbing and scratching and pushing you, ripping at your hair and clothes, tearing into your skin, your bones, your heart, your SOUL, scattering you to pieces. And there’s no escaping, there’s just the screaming, your screaming, but it isn’t yours in the present: it’s like a recording of every outcry you’ve ever given, played on a loop as you bleed, naked and torn and cold, on the ground.</p><p> </p><p>“wake up,” you hear, a firm voice poking holes in your cries. “wake up, sunshine, c’mon.”</p><p> </p><p>	A few of the hands stop clawing, and shake your arm gently, another two hold your face gently as if coaxing you out of the storm.</p><p> </p><p>“wake up, that’s it, ’s all good. just a nightmare.”</p><p> </p><p>	With what feels like a sharp push in the small of your back, you wake up abruptly. It’s not a bad scene to wake up to, either. Sans is here, on his chair by your bed, and both of his hands are holding yours. His eyes show relief when you blink awake, squinting at the lamp he’s turned on by your bed. There are much softer blankets on you than you remember, and you push your half-casted fingers into them, letting them cushion you. </p><p> </p><p>“heya,” he says, smiling sheepishly at you, when you look back up from the sheets.</p><p>“Hey,” you respond, pulling a hand away from his to rub the sleep out of your eyes. You try and fail to ignore the tender, sweet little look he has on his face while he watches you wake up. Yours threatens to match, so you yawn and look at your re-interlaced fingers. “Sorry about that.”</p><p>“nothin’ t’be sorry about, sunshine.”</p><p> </p><p>	Your smile is spontaneous, and it’s embarrassed- that name seems to hit you differently now. You look up when a little flare of white flashes through Sans’ turtleneck- he crosses his arms over his chest, but you can see the faint red-tinted glow on his sleeves. His face is red, but you know that’s not from his soul. </p><p> </p><p>“So… does the soul glowing thing mean something different than you told me?” you ask, impishly, smiling. His face only gets redder.</p><p>“i mean. not really. still just means i’m happy.”</p><p>“But…?”<br/>“maybe it’s more happy to see you than anythin’ else, i guess.”</p><p> </p><p>	You feel a rush of affection at that, and then, without missing a beat, you feel a wave of guilt. You feel like you should be sticking more firmly to your morals. He hurt you, and this is wrong, but at the same time you can’t help but think the “absence makes the heart grow fonder” adage is proving true. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’m flattered,” you say, softly, realizing you’ve been sitting in surprised silence for a bit too long than is considered normal.</p><p>“heh,” he responds weakly, still trying to hide the warm glow. Eventually, it fades, as does the nice feeling that came with your waking up. “so… you wanna tell me what it was about?”<br/>“What?” you ask, before remembering. You forgot so quickly. “Oh, yeah, my nightmare. There was just a lot of screaming and… and grabbing, and clawing. I don’t remember a lot.”</p><p>“maybe for the best?”</p><p>“Definitely for the best.”</p><p> </p><p>	He squeezes your hand, and you squeeze back, trying not to become distant. He can see it in your face, your effort to center and ground yourself to reality instead of letting your mind slip. </p><p> </p><p>“When am I gonna go home? And when do I get to eat again?” you ask, almost absently. Like you’re coming up with these questions not because you’re curious, but because you have to. Sans answers them anyway.</p><p>“well, pap is gettin’ your room ready back at home right now- left me to watch ya. the doctors said they’ll let you out in a week, tops. diagnostics and physical therapy and breathin’ exercises and stuff. and apparently they’ll let you eat after your last surgery, which they think’ll happen in a couple hours. somethin’ about re-setting the bone in your arm.”</p><p>“Oh. Do I have to do another one?”</p><p>“shouldn’t be as long as the last few.”</p><p>“Everyone’s worried enough without me having another surgery. I just want to eat and get the hell out of here. And did you say “my” room?”</p><p>“converted the old junk closet into a lil’ bedroom. paps’ been workin’ on it for weeks- i think you’ll like it. but, no spoilers, huh?” he winks. </p><p>“You didn’t have t-“</p><p>“but we did, so, no going back now, huh?”</p><p>“I… I guess. Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>	You look, concern knitting your eyebrows, at the soft sheets and at the thinness of your arms. It seems much too prevalent. Sans watches you release your hand from his, and trail your fingers over the too-sharp bones in your elbows, push hesitantly at the thin layer of flesh before you can feel the bone underneath. He can see you start to delve into your own self-consciousness, so he takes your hand back in both of his. You look at him with a sort of sadness and shame, but he just looks at your hand.</p><p> </p><p>“we’ll getcha all good and healthy again, promise,” he says confidently. “you’ll have as many grilled cheeses ’s you want, ’til you’re stuffed. a good night’s sleep in yer new bed, no nightmares… and when you’re awake, we’ll play cards or somethin’. you’re gonna be happy with us, we’ll fix all our shit. that sound good?”</p><p>“So good,” you smile, weakly. He glances up from where he’s holding your hand to your eyes, which look disbelieving, but admiring of his effort to make you feel better.</p><p>“good. ‘cause- ‘cause it’s gonna happen, ok? i promise.”</p><p>“You already promised.”</p><p>“i’ll stake my soul on it.”</p><p>“Please don’t,” you giggle. </p><p> </p><p>	Papyrus walks in tiredly with lunch and dark red fabric draped over his shoulder. He looks sleep deprived. You immediately try to sit forward and ask what’s wrong, but your ribs give a sharp pang, causing you to crumple back into the pillows, hissing.</p><p> </p><p>“Easy,” Papyrus and Sans say in unison, Sans putting one hand over where yours is situated on your ribcage, easing you back into a relaxed position. Papyrus puts his things down hurriedly and takes the seat on the other side of your bed, concerned.</p><p>“You are going to hurt yourself,” Papyrus says, in his inside voice. It’s the only volume he has that hospital personnel will let him use, seeing as his normal volume is drill sergeant scream. “You must relax.”</p><p>“he’s right, for once,” Sans mutters gruffly. “you can’t make it worse, ok? we need ya to come home ’s soon as ya can, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>	You grin-grimace, still coughing for the air that was knocked out of you. </p><p> </p><p>“Do we need to get a nurse?” Papyrus asks, as you continue to cough- he stands as your body is racked with it, striding out the door briskly for how tired he is.</p><p>“sunshine, breathe,” Sans says, purposefully ignoring his own sped up soulbeat and ragged breaths. “breathe, c’mon, it’s ok, you’re ok.”</p><p> </p><p>	When you finally stop coughing, you put your hand over your mouth, your face screwed up in disgust. </p><p> </p><p>“Tissue,” you say, but it sounds like you’re talking through a mouthful of water. He grabs you the whole box, handing you two. You do your best to hide it, but he can still see the blood that you spit up, a look of pain and revulsion in your eyes.</p><p>~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>“doll,” Sans says, horrified, when you wad up the tissues and ask for more. “what the hell? we- you need to-“</p><p>“I don’t want another surgery,” you plead, quietly, spitting a mix of saliva and blood into your third and fourth tissues. “I don’t want another one…”<br/>“but we need to fix this. where’s paps?”</p><p> </p><p>	Speak of the devil, Papyrus strides in with a very concerned-looking nurse. Against your silent begging, Sans hands over your bloody tissues, and apparently it’s worse than they anticipated, because before anyone can comprehend anything, your nice blankets are ripped away, and people are unlocking the wheels on the legs of your bed, and you’re being taken to the emergency room. </p><p> </p><p>“wait,” Sans says, desperately, as you start to cough up more blood onto your shirt. “wait, wait, what happened? wait-“</p><p> </p><p>	Papyrus holds onto his shoulder, guiding him out of the way of the makeshift gurney, and then handing him an armful of your blankets so they don’t trail on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“wait,” he mumbles, looking around confusedly. “wait, no…”</p><p>“She’ll be back in a few hours,” a nurse says without much conviction, on the way out the door. Papyrus nods, and Sans just looks after them in horror. </p><p>“what?”</p><p>“Internal bleeding, I presume,” the younger brother says, softly. “They will fix it.”</p><p>“they have to,” Sans mumbles. “they have to fix it.”</p><p>“They will. You have to relax, too, you know.”</p><p>“you’re not relaxed either, and you know it,” he snaps weakly, balling the blankets together in his fists. “just admit it.”</p><p>“Of course I’m not. We both need a break. But you are prone to stress, and you’re going to be of no help to her when she returns if you don’t rest and eat.”</p><p> </p><p>	He debates this, quietly, before shuffling over to the nearest chair, dropping the blankets onto it, and then sitting on top of them. Papyrus brings his food over, and they both eat in huddled silence. It’s soup, which is hard to eat with shaking hands, but when you can get a spoonful in, it’s warm and comforting. Sans doesn’t love that it’s tomato: if there was some mustard-based soup he could have, he’d love that. But, a good bottle of mustard is a mile away, and he doesn’t have the energy or willpower to go and get it. Papyrus, however, seems to be on the same brainwave. </p><p> </p><p>“I need to go home soon, get us changes of clothes, and shower. I’ll bring some good snacks, too. You should come, you need a bath.”</p><p>“‘m not leavin’.”</p><p>Papyrus sighs. “Alright.”</p><p>Sans looks up at his brother, only to suddenly notice the dark bags under his eyesockets that are normally under his own. A wave of worry and guilt comes over his soul. “you… you ok? look like ya got hit by a truck.”</p><p>“I haven’t slept. I have been working a few extra shifts, finishing up paperwork on Liam’s case, polishing up the human’s room, and getting food.”</p><p>“normally you don’t get tired doin’ all that, right?”</p><p>“You are not the only one here who is stressed for her, Sans. I’m scared out of my mind all the time. She is holding onto life by a shoelace, and every time I come back here I think I’m going to find out she’s slipped. But we have to pay her medical bill somehow, and you don’t work.”</p><p>“paps-“ Sans starts, apologetic and guilty.</p><p>“No, do not apologize. I am not saying you are worthless, or inconsiderate. You are what is keeping her alive. She holds on specifically for you, brother. You serve a purpose. I would just ask that you not act like you are the only one making stupid sacrifices for this human. You are not the only one who is scared for her.”</p><p>“i know. i shouldn’ta been stupid.”</p><p>“Obviously.”</p><p>“and i know i’m bein’ a shitty brother, and i kinda always have been.”</p><p>“I do not know about that, but you have plenty of room for improvement,” Papyrus mumbles. </p><p>“yeah. but i’m tryna be better for her, and i’m gonna try ta be better for you, too. get some sleep, i’ll drive home and grab everythin’.”</p><p>“No, that is my job. You must be here if she comes back sooner than expected. But I will get a nap in later, and you do need a shower, and to brush your teeth. You are positively reeking.”</p><p> </p><p>	After a moment of amused silence, Sans edges forward in his seat, pushing the wheeled table aside, and hugs him. His posture is full of apologies for years of insult and injury. Pap hesitates, stiff and unfamiliar with the affection, but gives in after a moment or two, hugging him back. He’s surprised by how much he likes the gentle act. It feels nice to be hugged. Like he matters. Which, of course he matters, he’s the Great and Terrible Papyrus… but. Maybe he doubted it sometimes. So. This is nice.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hey so long story short my writing on this is kinda crap right now because</p><p>1- i have no idea how or when to end this story and i'm having a hard time landing the plane<br/>2- i have both an idea for another fanwork AND i'm working on a book!! like, a novel. </p><p>i dont know if yall know this, but fanfiction has kinda always been my practice field, and i've really been wanting to actually put writing out there, yknow? anyway, if it ever gets published (which for the record might be never, might be in a few years, who knows) i'll tell yall about it.</p><p>TLDR; lemme know how you want to see this work end (in a happy way!!!) so im not floundering and give yall a crap ending, but we have five or so chapters before then</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Mornin'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>:3 wholesome</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When you wake up again, the scene is slightly different than you remembered. You expected Sans to be at your side, grinning lazily and waiting for you to wake up. You would talk about this thing or that, and then he would coax you off to sleep again. But, unfortunately, that isn’t the case. You’re in a new room, hooked up to more machines, with tape holding needles and tubes to your bloodstream. You feel exhausted, and your head is pounding. Papyrus is, predictably, gone- but Sans is, too. That made you sad, on top of everything else. You’re suddenly aware that there must be more pain medicine in your bloodstream, because you can hear Sans’ voice, but he isn’t in here. He’s singing. You can’t even imagine him singing, much less this.</p><p> </p><p>“l, is for the way you look, at me… o, is for the only one, i see…”</p><p> </p><p>	You giggle at the thought of him crooning love songs to himself, more than anything else. You did imagine him singing something about as old at this song, but not a love song.</p><p> </p><p>“v, is very very, ex-tra-or-din-ary, e, is, even more than anyone that you adore can love!”</p><p>“Love is all that I can give to you… love is more than just a game for two,” you join him. The voice cuts off abruptly, and you hear quick footsteps before a door opens to your left. (Apparently you have a bathroom in your room now.) His head sticks out the door, slightly red, but more surprised than anything else.</p><p>“you’re awake.”</p><p>“Yeah… still feel like shit, though. Hey, are you okay?”</p><p>“never better,” he says, with an easy smile. As you expected, vaguely, his soul glows. He puts an arm over it again, but this time you notice it’s for a different reason. The light is weak, like a dying candle, and it flickers quickly before dying. You see a hint of pain cross his features, but he doesn’t acknowledge it for long. “yeah, sorry about that, uh- technical difficulties.”</p><p>“Are you hurt?”</p><p>He hesitates before replying. “eh… nah. just a little wrinkle i gotta work out.” You can immediately tell he’s lying, and he can see it on your face. “a little green magic and i’ll be fine, don’t worry. you clearly have a lot more going on than i do.”</p><p> </p><p>	You squint, confused- he waves at the many tubes and machines you’re hooked to at the moment.</p><p>“That doesn’t mean it’s not important… did you hurt your soul? You said when I get hurt it gets in a lot of pain, but I kind of assumed it couldn’t physically hurt you.”</p><p>“i… well, monsters are their souls, so. emotions matter.”</p><p>“Come here?”</p><p> </p><p>	You said it like a tentative offer, but he obliged anyway, trying to distract you as he did-</p><p> </p><p>“you’ve been passed out since they brought you back in here. two days. they thought you were in a coma, but i could tell you were just sleepin’.”</p><p>“Oh. I didn’t mean to scare anyo-“</p><p>“not your fault.”</p><p>“I know…”</p><p>“but…?”</p><p>“But I scared people, and I’m tired of it. Was that my last surgery? I mean, not that I’m not just dying to cough up more blood, but, uh- I’m kind of sick of these pain meds.”</p><p>“i know, doll. they said you should be sorted out by now. somethin’ about a little bit’a dieting, and you should be ‘on yer road to recovery.’”</p><p> </p><p>	You both laughed about that as he took a seat beside you, holding your hand in one of his automatically.</p><p> </p><p>“Never took you for a singer,” you point out, smiling cheekily. He rolls his eyelights.</p><p>“none’a yer business. didn’t know you were awake.”</p><p>“You’re embarrassed that you have such a nice voice…?”</p><p>“i do not. sound like a beached whale.”</p><p>“Man, I’ve never heard a beached whale sing. You should take me to see one sometime, if they’re half as good as you.”</p><p> </p><p>	He laughs, but shakes his head.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon,” you tease. “L, is for the way you look, at me…”</p><p>Chuckling quietly, he picks it up with you. “o, is for the only one i see.”</p><p>V, is very-very, ex-tra-or-din-ary<br/>E, is, even more than anyone that you adore can<br/>Love, is all that I can give to you~<br/>Love is more than just a game for two<br/>Two, in love, can make it<br/>Take my heart, but please don’t break it<br/>Love, was made for me and you…</p><p> </p><p>	When you open your eyes- at some point, you’d started singing with them closed- you catch Sans looking at you with an unmasked admiration that makes you want to kiss him all over his grinning face. He squeezes your hands.</p><p>“we should have a concert.”</p><p>“They’d only come for you.”</p><p>“nah.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>	You both sit in the silence for a moment or two, and you push your hands into his, clearly working up the courage to say something.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, my timing must be, really, really terrible, and I’m so sorry about that, but I sort of, kind of realized I-“</p><p> </p><p>	Papyrus walks in the door. Sans looks up at his brother, frustrated. You watch them make very disgruntled eye contact.</p><p> </p><p>“I can go, if need be,” he says, already edging towards the door.</p><p>“No,” you say, quickly. “You don’t have to, it’s fine. Do you have food?”</p><p>(Coward.) The word bounces around your brain in a most unpleasant way. </p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“cool,” Sans says, trying not to sound awkward or put out. You’ll tell him later, for sure.</p><p>Right?</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~</p><p>	Coming home feels like a dream: an amazing, perfect, wonderful dream. After about a week of physical therapy and dieting at the hospital, you were cleared to return home. The internal bleeding had been cleared up, after your final surgery. You’d coughed up a lot of blood, and it was evident that it had gotten into your lungs. You still need lots of bedrest, and you’re supposed to do your daily amount of walking and stretching to keep your blood flowing. Your broken ribs can’t be helped much, besides pain medicine: they’ll heal completely on their own, with time. You’re consistently exhausted, and standing up and sitting down hurts like hell with your ribs, which you somehow always forget about, but other than that? You’re just happy to be able to go to the bathroom without an aide.</p><p> </p><p>	Sans and Papyrus are ecstatic: maybe even more excited than you are, even though they show it in different ways. Papyrus has a lot of his energy back, so he does more and works harder. Sans smiles easier, laughs louder, and it’s been easier for him to relax. When you walk in the front door, they rush to usher you up the stairs and show you your room. (Sans hasn’t seen it yet, but he doesn’t mention that.) The walls are a soft gray, adorned with fairy lights and soft blankets, your very own bed, and even a bookshelf. Papyrus said he made sure the door could lock from the inside, if you ever wanted to use it in order to feel safer. They let you know all your favorite foods are in the fridge, and luckily, a lot of them fall under your dietary restrictions list for the next few weeks. They looked so worried when you teared up a bit.</p><p> </p><p>“This is too much,” you said softly, running your fingers over the soft blankets and looking at the glittering lights. “I can’t pay for- this is- it’s perfect.”</p><p> </p><p>“YOU NEED NOT WORRY ABOUT PAYING FOR IT, HUMAN! IT WAS A GOOD DISTRACTION FOR ME. I WAS HOPING YOU’D LIKE IT. DO NOT CRY, PLEASE,” he added, when you sniffled, smiling at him.</p><p>“I’m so lucky to have you guys…”</p><p> </p><p>	Papyrus hugged you, much more gently than he normally would, so as not to hurt your ribs or re-crack your bad arm. Sans chuckled and pushed down some of his guilt over not helping his brother with this project. You invited him into your hug anyway, though, so he didn’t linger on the thought for long. After touring the rest of your room, seeing your new shampoo and soaps in the bathroom, you immediately asked for help to get down the stairs so you could get to the food. You were starving, and you immediately scarfed down three pieces of toast, a banana, and a few bottles of water. </p><p> </p><p>“hungry much?” Sans asked you, as you tore into it. <br/>“Yeah,” you said, between bites. “Really.”</p><p>“DON’T EAT IT THAT FAST, OR YOU’LL BE PUKING IT ALL UP. YOU HAVEN’T EATEN THAT MUCH IN DAYS, YOUR STOMACH WON’T BE USED TO PROCESSING IT.”</p><p> </p><p>	He was right, in the end. You got quite the stomachache, and though you didn’t barf, you felt damn close. After that, plus all the transitions and stairs, you were exhausted. They had to carry you up the stairs to your bed. You didn’t mind.</p><p> </p><p>“holler if you need anything,” Sans mumbles, settling you under the sheets and drawing them up around you. You marvel at the plush way your body sinks into the mattress, despite your light weight and small size. It’s infinitely better than sleeping on the floor: it’s even better than sleeping on Sans’ mattress. Not that you’d tell him that. </p><p>When Papyrus went to get a bottle of water to put by your bed, Sans added, “i’m one room over if ya need me.”</p><p>“Oh?” you asked, giggling. </p><p>“m-hm.”</p><p>“That’s sweet.”</p><p>“you could say that.”</p><p> </p><p>	You smile and sigh, knowing what you want to say, but can’t. Not just yet. You pull your eyes all the way open, trying to convince yourself to stay awake.</p><p> </p><p>“rest,” he says, quietly, as you blink drearily up at him. “you need it.”</p><p>“Can’t have me all sad and pathetic anymore, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>	He grins, with an edge of sadness behind it, but doesn’t say anything. (You aren’t pathetic. You’re leagues stronger than he’ll ever be, for all the abuse, pain, and stress you’ve survived. He’s worried about you being too vulnerable. If tragedy strikes again, what is he going to do?)</p><p> </p><p>“nope. you gotta toughen up,” he chuckles.</p><p>“Apparently, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>	After a moment of silence, you take his hand and squeeze it, smiling a tentative reassurance. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not leaving. I’ll be fine.”</p><p>“i know.”</p><p>“You know?”</p><p>“sure.”</p><p> </p><p>	Papyrus comes back in, and Sans sighs under his breath when you release his hand.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>HEY YALL</p><p>so! uh! i'm going on hiatus!!!<br/>my mental health is trash, i have a concussion, and school has Absolutely Murdered Me, so i've kind a decided i need a break for a hot second??? i don't know for how long, but i promise i'll be back eventually.</p><p>thanks for understanding, see yall in a bit</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Finally!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>:3</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sans wakes up, cold, sweaty and panting, not remembering the details of his nightmare. There was a hospital room, and a nurse, and the heavy-weighing fact that You Are Gone, and That Is Final. Sure, vivid nightmares hurt. They linger, and you shudder thinking of them. But, in Sans’ opinion, the worse nightmares are when you wake up not quite remembering what’s real and what’s dreamt. The worst are when you’re sure something is real, and it’s not. Like now. Like thinking that you’re dead.</p><p>	He drags himself out of his tangled sheets, sitting on the floor with his head between his legs and his hands over his skull, feeling small. Small, and weak, and tired. He can practically feel his soul falling apart. </p><p> </p><p>	Meanwhile, you’re one room over, doing roughly the same thing. You wake up, breath coming in harsh jerks. As you recover, what you have going for you is that your setting brings you back to reality. You know you’re awake. But still, sometimes your nightmares are creepily detailed. And you do remember parts of them. Namely, you remember hurting Sans. You don’t remember how or why. But you do remember him screaming. </p><p> </p><p>You decide to check on him. Just to be sure.</p><p>Sans decides to go to your room, standing on weak knees and making it to the door. Maybe he can steal a blanket of yours to sleep with.</p><p> </p><p>	You both open your doors at the same time, and you only have to take one look at each other to get what’s happened. His face relaxes significantly, and yours breaks into a rueful smile.</p><p> </p><p>“you, too?” he asks.<br/>“Nah, I just woke up in a cold sweat to get some water. You?”</p><p>“best way to wake up.”</p><p> </p><p>	Without much thought, you make your way over to him and hug him, tightly. He ignores your heavy cast and bandaged torso in favor of returning your affection, nuzzling your cheek.</p><p> </p><p>“Stupid question.”</p><p>“shoot.”</p><p>“You know I wouldn’t ever hurt you- uh- on purpose, right?”</p><p>“did Nightmare You pull some shit on me?”</p><p>“You could say that, yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>	He feels your heavy sigh, and rubs your shoulders gently. </p><p> </p><p>“yeah, i know you wouldn’t do that, sunshine.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>“yeah. and, stupider question.”</p><p>“M-hm?”</p><p>“this is real, right? you’re okay?”</p><p>“Yeah. Am I supposed to be dead or something?”</p><p>	His hands tightening on your shirt is all the answer you need. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay- I’m here. You’re definitely awake.”</p><p>“thanks.”</p><p>“You want to go get something to drink?”</p><p>“we talkin’ hot chocolate or booze?”</p><p>“Heheh- hot chocolate sounds delicious.”</p><p>“comin’ right up, then.”</p><p> </p><p>	You release each other, and he helps you down the stairs. </p><p> </p><p>“i’ll make you somethin’ small so your stomach doesn’t hurt anymore.”</p><p>“Much appreciated.”</p><p> </p><p>	While you sit at the table, he mixes box mix in with some milk, pouring most of it into a large mug that says “bone appetit” on the side. (The ‘e’ in bone seems to be scribbled on in Sharpie.) You giggle at it, and he just shrugs, grinning. But you know he’s proud. He pours what’s left into a little mug for you. It’s plain white, and the bottom is clear, with glitter floating around inside. You shake it a little to move it around. </p><p>	You both sip on your drinks in silence. There’s no conversation that you need to have. Your hand is holding his tightly, and your chairs are scooted so close together he might as well be sitting on your lap. You don’t mind. You need the comfort. Only when your mugs are empty does Sans speak.</p><p> </p><p>“hey, so. were you gonna say something, back at the hospital? we kinda got interrupted.”</p><p>“Oh. Well. You were, too. About what happened to your soul.”</p><p>“i’ll tell you my thing if you’ll tell me yours.”</p><p>“Okay, but, you first.”</p><p>“well, it’s pretty simple. they declared you dead for two minutes, and someone came and told us you were a goner. in basic human terms, you could say that that nearly killed me. soul took some serious damage from it. when they corrected stuff, i was better. just needed to eat and rest.”</p><p>“Sans,” you say, quietly, concerned.</p><p>“don’t worry about me. just take care of yerself, okay? that was a little too close for comfort to yours truly.”</p><p> </p><p>	You tuck your head into his shoulder when you hug him, and he sighs while he returns the favor. </p><p> </p><p>“i’m okay. still kinda hurts, but- it’ll heal with time. wasn’t a break, just a crack. it would have been worse if you were gone for longer, but it was only a minute or two.”</p><p>“I know you’re… physically safe. And I’m glad to hear it, but is that what your nightmare was about? I don’t want something like this to bother you. I’m okay, I swear.”</p><p>“i mean. yeah, i had a nightmare about it. souls don’t forget taking damage quick, especially with emotional ties… which, honestly, i never thought would be an issue for me.”</p><p>“Feelings are a blessing and a curse, I guess.”</p><p>“cheers to that,” he says, holding up his mug. You clink yours against his, even though there’s none left to drink.</p><p> </p><p>	After thinking about that for a moment, Sans shakes your arm, seeming more relaxed. </p><p> </p><p>“c’mon, i think you have happier news for me than that. hand it over, i’m curious.”</p><p>“I- and you have to let me finish, okay?- I love you. As in I’m in love with you. I don’t know if I’m ready for dating yet, but, there’s no arguing with it. I can’t… not love you? So- I guess it’s just a matter of waiting for me to be ready for everything.”</p><p>“and i’m right behind it.”</p><p>“I’m gonna assume you still love me?” you say, pulling out of the hug and returning the smile he’s wearing.<br/>“duh. but not until you’re ready.”</p><p>“Thanks. I do want to sleep in the same room, though, if you don’t mind.”</p><p>“not at all. just let me know if you need me out.”</p><p>“Man, you really are the best.”</p><p> </p><p>	He chuckles, soul feeding madly off your soft words. You love him. As in you are currently IN love with him. And you want him close. That’s all the comfort he’s ever needed.</p><p> </p><p>“you must’a rubbed off on me.”</p><p>“Yeah, I bet.”</p><p> </p><p>	You turn your knees towards him, and he finds himself doing the same. Before he can think about the closeness of the position, he’s pulled into your lap. He feels like he must be hurting you, with his bones on your legs, but if it is painful, you don’t seem to care. </p><p> </p><p>“heheh. uh. what’s happenin’, sunshine? this is a little weird.” </p><p>“You want me to put you down?”</p><p> </p><p>	He thinks for a moment, red blush filling in his cheekbones unconsciously, then shaking his head. </p><p> </p><p>“Figured. You’re lighter than you look, by the way. No offense.”</p><p>“none taken. nothin’ here but bones.”</p><p> </p><p>	After a minute, he maneuvers himself so he’s straddling your legs, hugging you that way for a change. He feels like a big baby, but, honestly he couldn’t care less. You’re so soft and comfortable. And your protective arms around his back make him feel safe. A gentle, coaxing reminder that you’re here, and you love him. He sinks into your embrace further at the thought.</p><p> </p><p>“Sans?”<br/>“mm-hmmm?”</p><p>“Are you falling asleep, goofball?”</p><p>“nahhh…”</p><p>“Aww. Hey, really quick, before you pass out, would you look at me for just a second?”</p><p> </p><p>	He leans back and blinks open his eyes, grinning lazily.</p><p> </p><p>“yep?”</p><p> </p><p>	And then your lips, soft and butterfly-light, gently press against his teeth. He can’t help but suck in a shocked breath, but immediately lets himself be swept into it. He wraps his arms around your neck and finishes the kiss, gentle but firm. Not prying, not deep, just a good first kiss.</p><p> </p><p>You both pull back a bit- you’re beaming. “I was kinda thinking you wouldn’t get much gratification out of that.”</p><p>“are you fucking kidding me? that was awesome.”</p><p> </p><p>	Suddenly, his face goes from cloud-nine to a deep anxiety in the space of seconds. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong?” you ask worriedly.</p><p>“holy shit, you aren’t gonna leave again, are you?” he asks, taking both of your hands. His eyes look desperate, pleading. “god, i shouldn’t’ve- i’m so sorry. don’t leave. please. you just got home-“</p><p> </p><p>	You kiss him again, gently, but only long enough to stop him from going on an hour-long fear-fueled rant to you.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not leaving. That time it was my choice. If I didn’t like it- which I did- that would be my fault, not yours. I don’t have any reason to leave. And it’s besides the point, because I am DEFINITELY not making that mistake again. Especially now that I have you.”</p><p>“oh,” he says, slightly embarrassed.</p><p>“Yeah. It’s okay. Don’t panic.”</p><p>“yeah. yeah. sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay. Hey, you wanna go back to bed? I’d love some cuddles right about now, how’s that sound?”<br/>“so goddamn good. please.”</p><p>“Alright,” you giggle. “But I can’t carry you up the stairs, or I’ll break my ribs again.”</p><p>“good point.”</p><p> </p><p>	So, after he helped you back up the stairs, you pulled him into your softly twinkling room with one hand, closing the door behind you, and climbed into your bed. He wrapped around you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. Which, for the record, you are. Just to clarify. </p><p> </p><p>“y’know…” he says thoughtfully, face pressed into your hair. “a while ago i read somewhere in order to love someone, you need to love yourself first.”</p><p>“What do you think about that?”</p><p>“well, i thought about it, but. i think it’s bullshit.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“yeah, i mean. i hated myself, but, after i met you, it was like… it IS like… whenever you walk into a room i have sunshine in me. that’s-“ he laughed embarrassedly. “that’s, uh, where i got your nickname from. but, eh, anyway- it’s just like, whenever you smile i feel like my soul is gonna pop. maybe not to the world, but to me, you sure as shit are perfect. i love you so much i can forget what hating myself even felt like.”</p><p> </p><p>	You’re blown away by the clarity and sweetness of the words, and you nestle closer to him.</p><p> </p><p>“is that too much?”</p><p>“No, definitely not. Did you plan that?”</p><p>“the one thing i’ve ever actually thought about before it came outta my mouth, sure.”</p><p>“I really lucked out on you.”</p><p>“look who’s talking.”</p><p>“Heheh… I might be too happy to sleep.”</p><p>“you’ll manage. i know i will.”</p><p>“How’re you doing it?”</p><p>“easy to fall asleep when you’ve got a pocketful’a sunshine.”</p><p> </p><p>	You groaned and he sniggered, but you both ended up giggling for a long minute before you petered out. Sure enough, you were starting to fall asleep in his hug, and you finally did. He listened to your steady breathing, watched the rise and fall of your chest, and felt your soft, delicate hands occasionally squeeze his own.</p><p> </p><p>“night, sunshine,” he purred, nuzzling your head. “i love ya.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>HEY im back!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <br/>my updates wont be as consistent BUT im probably going to write something for halloween!!!!!!</p><p>thank yall for being so supportive, the comments you guys left gave me Major Serotonin!!</p><p>please comment underfell prompts of various fluffiness or angstinesses i need ideas</p><p>love yall!!!!!!!!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Mornin', The Sequel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>:)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yes i know im late shut up more in the end notes</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Light is coming in through a window, and the smell of dust in the sun and old paper is right under your nose- a smell of nostalgia and comfort, so you keep breathing it in. Arms, locked tight around you, hold you in place. Your back is pressed to Sans’ chest. Thick blankets drape over the both of you, and you get the feeling of being perfectly nestled in. Soft snoring in your ear, accompanied by the occasional sniff or sigh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Your hands fumble lazily for his, holding them and squeezing, which you’ve now come to associate with comfort. Your eyes blink open, and you have to appreciate the sheer perfection of this scene. You wish you could take a picture of it, and paint it. You’d hang it on the wall, and every time you saw it you would get the warm feeling in your chest that you feel now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	To think there was a point you ever felt unloved. Or hurt. Or scared. It doesn’t feel like there’s time between then and now. It feels like you’re a completely different person. Like you’ve traded brains, bodies, hell- lives- with someone else. The thought is oddly soothing. You’ve left whoever that person was behind. You’re someone else. You’re free. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“hey… ngh- you up?” Sans says, quietly. His voice is still froggy and rough, but for whatever reason that only makes you love it all the more. You roll over in his arms and kiss him, because all of a sudden it feels like the right thing to do. He seems too tired to be surprised, so he just reciprocates, humming contentedly when you pull away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“that was nice…”</p>
<p>“M-hm.”</p>
<p>“wish i could make it feel that good for you… feels so soft for me.”</p>
<p>“Of course they feel good for me. They’re your kisses.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	He looks away, laughing embarrassedly, but doesn’t protest. You nuzzle into his arms, cast sitting awkwardly under you. You don’t mind, though. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“whaddya wanna do today?”</p>
<p>“Let you hold me.”</p>
<p>“woah, awesome plan. i’m down.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	A few long, slow minutes pass, full of sleepy chin-kisses and forehead-kisses and cheek-kisses, nuzzling and pulling each other closer. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sans?”</p>
<p>“m-hm?”</p>
<p>“Should I… uh. Tell Liam about us?”</p>
<p>“what?” he asks- he sounds really surprised and hurt, so you press on quickly.</p>
<p>“I know it’s stupid, but I feel like he should know.”</p>
<p>“why? so when he gets out in ten years he can come try to kick both our asses?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	You flinch, and he sighs, pressing his forehead to yours.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“sorry. just- i don’t understand why you think that asshole deserves to know anything about you. he’s in prison right now, anyway. i think your best bet is to just- let him forget you ever existed. that way he won’t come try to hurt you anymore.”</p>
<p>“I want to forgive him. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to, and I don’t think he deserves it, but I hate knowing that I’m… that I’m just letting something die just like that. And I hate knowing he hates me. And I hate knowing I hate him, because I do, and I don’t want to.”</p>
<p>“i’ll just have to hate him for the both of us.”</p>
<p>“Yeah… yeah, that sounds about right.”</p>
<p>“heh. don’t worry, i got enough to go around.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	You smile and kiss his forehead, then pull him tighter to you. He chuckles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“you know what’s hilarious?”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“i’ve kinda subconsciously wanted to hold you like this for so long; but beyond this i have no idea how to date you.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“i’m good at the emotional part of it, right? the talking and the hugging and the beating up assholes who hurt you. but, i mean- are we the matching t-shirts kinda people? are you kinky? are we gonna try to work out how the fuck the sex thing’ll work or are we just not doing that? am i,” he screws up his face like he can’t even begin to comprehend the concept- “attractive or something? or are we just going with the soul-over-looks kinda vibe?”</p>
<p>“Yeah… okay, from the top. No matching t-shirts. We are not those people.”</p>
<p>“good to hear.”</p>
<p>“I’m, uh. Pretty basic, in that whole… general… area. But, uh, it’s kind of a sore spot right now, so- maybe we just… don’t. For the foreseeable future.”</p>
<p>“fine by me.”</p>
<p>“And, yes, you are indeed, hot. I don’t really get it, admittedly, but, uh, you’re hotter than most humans I know. By a lot. Um. Yeah.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	A grin crawls over his face, equal parts embarrassed and disbelieving.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“thanks. but you don’t have to sugarcoat it. i got an ugly mug, let’s face it.”</p>
<p>“No, that’s not true. You’ve got a really good- like, cute and hot thing going for you. Like, you have dimples, and a really good smile, and you kinda look like a teddy bear when you’re relaxed. But if you tried to be all suave and cool and seduce someone? You’d have swooning girls all over you. Promise. You just have the charisma for it.”</p>
<p>“i- pft, nah, i- uh. thank you,” he finally says, relenting at the glare you give him. “you’re pretty good-lookin’ yourself.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Your face looks hopeful and happy and doubtful, and he realizes how few compliments like that you must have gotten. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“don’t look’t me like that, ‘course you are. you’re adorable,” your face flushes over and you bury it in his shoulder, making him laugh. “you got a smile that could power a city, and you’re the softest damn thing i ever felt, and my soul always falls to pieces when ya start laughin’. you have so many more expressions ‘cause, y’know, you have skin and a face and whatever. you’re… you’re just alive. and it’s beautiful. you always were.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	And even though he’d never said it out loud, as soon as the words leave his mouth he knows that he means everything he said is true. And he means it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“you good?” he asks, bumping your head lightly with his skull.</p>
<p>“You honestly think that?” he hears, though it’s muffled.</p>
<p>“yeah.”</p>
<p>“Nobody’s… nobody’s ever…”</p>
<p>“that’s cause nobody’s loved you as much as i do. almost fuckin’ hurts, how strong it feels. ’s really bowlin’ me over.” </p>
<p>“Well- I know your soul can’t lie to me,” you smile, pointing out how strongly it’s glowing, even through his hoodie and his shirt.</p>
<p>He shrugs. “</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	So, sitting up and stretching, you get a little help getting out of bed, then head towards the door. As soon as you set foot outside your room, though, you see Papyrus, his arms crossed and glaring at the both of you.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“YOU MUST BE KIDDING ME.”</p>
<p>“Papyrus, it’s okay. I just had a nightmare last night. We’re just crashing together.”</p>
<p>“yeah. pap, it’s all good.”</p>
<p>“DO YOU THINK I’M STUPID? I KNOW YOU’VE DONE MORE THAN THAT. THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT GOT US HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE.”</p>
<p>“I’m not leaving again, Pap,” you say, walking forward and putting a hand on his arm. “That was a mistake. I know it was.”</p>
<p>“BUT MISTAKES CAN BE REPEATED.”</p>
<p>“Papyrus… I broke a promise, to both you and Sans. So, I think that that makes my promises kind of obsolete, but I mean it when I say I’m not running away anytime soon. I mean- hell, even if I wanted to, which I don’t- I don’t think I physically could. Someone would bump into me and I’d be down for the count. And, uh- I chose this. Sans, I mean. He didn’t… pressure anything. That’s part of the reason why everything happened like it did. And I was the bigger idiot out of the two of us, but I’m doing better now.”</p>
<p>“CAN YOU PROMISE THAT?”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“THAT YOU’RE DOING BETTER.”</p>
<p>“Definitely. I swear.”</p>
<p>“THEN… I SUPPOSE IT’S ALRIGHT.”</p>
<p>“Is there anything I can say that’ll make you feel better about it?”</p>
<p>“IF YOU EVER WISH TO LEAVE AGAIN, FOR ANY REASON, YOU’LL LET ME SET YOU UP IN A HOTEL UNTIL YOU’RE READY TO RETURN. AND YOU WON’T BE A PUSHOVER AND LET SANS KEEP… DOING DATEMATE THINGS WITH YOU, IF YOU FEEL UNSAFE AROUND HIM.”</p>
<p>“Deal. Trust me, if Sans turns into a jerk, I’ll just kick his ass.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Papyrus laughs loudly- a rare sound- and pats your shoulder. When you turn around to look at Sans, he looks almost nervous. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“heh. yep. this is a good idea.”</p>
<p>“So you agree I could kick your ass.”</p>
<p>“easily.”</p>
<p>“Then don’t be a jerk.”</p>
<p>“deal, fine, jesus. just don’t dust me,” he says, mock-defensively.</p>
<p>	Mostly mock-defensively.</p>
<p>Partly because he IS 100% confident you could kick his ass.</p>
<p>	You giggle and give him a quick hug- he sighs in fake relief and returns the affection. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can we get some breakfast now?”</p>
<p>“INDEED! I MADE A VERY EXOTIC RECIPE FROM THE INTERNET! THEY’RE LIKE PANCAKES, BUT THIN AND FULL OF CHOCOLATE.”</p>
<p>“a crepe?” you ask, curiously.</p>
<p>“NOT A ‘CRAPE’, A CREEP. THAT’S WHAT THE RECIPE SAID, ANYWAY.”</p>
<p>“Ah. Of course. How silly of me.”</p>
<p>“INDEED. LET US GO!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>buddy i could go on for hours about my mental state but howsabout we just say ya boi is thiiiiiis close to takin a long hot bath with a toaster </p>
<p>however as i think you've heard that from me already i'll just add arbitrary updates</p>
<p>-my flannel smells like campfire now and people told me i would like it but i dont but i feel cool now so whatevs<br/>-i have a stuffed goat with a collar on it now because circumstances<br/>-i asked a guy friend of mine 'how to know if you were friends with someone without asking, because it feels awkward to ask sometimes', and he just went "idk sometimes you've gotta put yourself out there" and then i asked "hey r we friends" and he goes "ye of cours-OH wait you were asking about me!! aww" and we hugged and im happy about it :3<br/>-good witchy hair day<br/>-made my mom watch totoro yesterday and she said 10 outta 10<br/>-had a crap ton of nightmares but one of them started with me kissing some cute chick so honestly i cant complain too much rite<br/>-made a fire playlist for imagining my own death in vivid detail<br/>-found out my best friend has listened to Ghost Choir by Louie Zong because i was humming it and he joined in and i think i almost cried from happiness (but then he said that Ghost Duet was better- which for the record is wrong)</p>
<p>anyway comment stories about good stuff thats happened to you recently and make them long because i like reading long comments and if i can find the two homies who ended up meeting irl and dating via an undertale fic i might cry </p>
<p>thanks bye</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Extra, Extra</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What the alternate ending to this fic was going to be before I scrapped it :)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey! uh.<br/>it's been a while!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something happened. </p>
<p>	Something happened, and something is wrong, and Sans doesn’t know WHAT it is, but all of your self-care progress just vanished: and he has no idea how or why. You’ve taken a relapse, and he doesn’t know what to do. You’re sitting on his mattress, leaned against the corner where the mattress meets both walls, staring at your phone. Your eyes are red and puffy, and you have bags under them. No matter what Sans does or says, you won’t tell him what’s wrong, and you won’t accept comfort. You’re dead to the world.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“bud… what’s goin’ on?” he asks, for the fifth time, sitting at the end of the mattress and reaching a hand out to you, should you feel the need to take it. You don’t respond.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	It originated, to his knowledge, a few hours after you got home from shopping yesterday. You didn’t come to dinner because you got a phone call of some kind, and ever since you’ve been really off. Of course, he has his suspicions as to who called, but he assumed after the scare he gave him he would stay away. You were thinking about giving your verbal testimony today at the police station, and at this rate he doesn’t know if you’ll be ready for another month, much less in a few hours. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve been imposing,” you manage, quietly. He looks up at your face quickly, confused.</p>
<p>“what?”</p>
<p>“I should go home. I’ve been staying here for a bit too long. That’s my fault.”</p>
<p>“wh- home? ya can’t- ya don’t have one! at least not one where yer by yerself, you…” his voice trails off before anger clouds his face. “he told’ja ta come back, didn’t he.”</p>
<p>“He didn’t- it’s not like that, he… he said he was sorry! He said it wouldn’t happen again, I don’t- I have to-“</p>
<p>“have to do what.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	You look at him, and for the first time in a long while you don’t see your safety, or your anchor, or a pair of open arms. You see sharpness, and anger, and fear in his face. You know he just wants the best for you, but that combination scares you. What you say could shatter him, and all the shards will come back to stab you. Like fighting someone with a knife made of glass.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I have to give him the benefit of the doubt.”</p>
<p>“why. he hurt you, he hurt you bad. and how many times has he said this before, huh?”</p>
<p>“I- how would you know, you don’t even- you don’t even know him!”</p>
<p>“he was fuckin’ STARVING you, and you’re giving him the benefit of the doubt?!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	He’s on his feet at the words, and you shrink back into the corner. He sees a flash of fear on your face, and he realizes what he’s done. He’s yelling, he’s cornering you, he’s towering over you. That’s not okay, and he knows it. With a deep breath, he sits back down on the end of the mattress, not meeting your eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“so you’re goin’ home.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“two- nah, three questions.”</p>
<p>“Okay?”</p>
<p>“are ya really leavin’ because you feel like yer imposin’, or is it because he wants ya to?”</p>
<p>“I…”</p>
<p>“don’t lie. i can sit here and listen to whatever you gotta say, but i ain’t listenin’ to lies.”</p>
<p>“He wants me to go back. And I think that that’s fair.”</p>
<p>He sighs, scratching at the corners of his eyesockets as if there were tears there- but there aren’t, not really. Maybe in a deep, hidden part of his soul, there are. But not here. “fine. you gonna give yer testimony at the station today, or are ya droppin’ charges?”</p>
<p>“Sans,” you murmur. “I can’t. I can’t relive everything he did wrong and risk getting him arrested, and then turn around and be kind to him. That wouldn’t be fair to him, and- and I’ve already agreed to go, if I changed my mind… I don’t know what he’d do, but it would involve him coming here and that would get you hurt. It’s probably best if I don’t.”</p>
<p>“do you hear yourself?” he asks, frustration rising again- “everything he did wrong”, “that wouldn’t be fair to HIM”, if you say no he’ll come here and try to hurt someone. those are the reddest flags i ever seen, and papyrus is my brother. so i got a followup question, ‘f ya don’t mind. if you go and give your honest testimony of everything that’s happened, and then go to live with him, and there’s a warrant out for his arrest or something… what do you think he’ll do to you?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” you whisper, barely audible now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	You get quiet, and he can practically see the flashbacks of old pain behind your tired eyes. You blink a few times, as if to clear them away, and then meet his eyelights. God, you look so defeated. Vulnerable and scared and deathly tired. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can you hold me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	You say it so quietly he’s not even quite sure you really said it. But when your eyes are searching for an answer, he nods, just barely. You meet in the middle of the mattress, and he gently pulls you to his chest. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“i hate watching you get hurt.”</p>
<p>“He said he’ll be better, and- and I believe him. It’ll be fine.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Sans sighs, quietly so you don’t hear, and then softly asks-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“you really want to do this… or are ya just doin’ this because you’re more scared of keepin’ goin’? you wanna go back to somethin’ routine, familiar, even if it hurts ya… or do you really want to leave?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	He gets his answer in the tightening of your arms around him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“i want to go back to the underground some days… ‘cause no matter how much it hurt me, i knew my place there. here’s different. but i don’t. because it ain’t good for me.”</p>
<p>“I have to…”</p>
<p>“you don’t have to do nothin’, sweetheart.”</p>
<p>“I HAVE to…”</p>
<p>“shh…” He pets your hair tenderly, letting you dry-sob into his shoulder as he holds you. “it’s gonna be ok, it’s gonna be fine.”</p>
<p>“I already said I’d go back, what’s he going to do now? I- I- I HAVE to go, I have to, I can’t do this anymore! Sans, I can’t, I can’t, I… just let me go. It’ll be easier this way.”</p>
<p>“it’s not that you wanna go back, it’s that you feel like you need to to protect yourself. and me.”</p>
<p>“Stop psychoanalyzing me and let me go!” you demand, pushing away from him and standing. He lets you go without complaint, but his soul is heavy as he watches you snatch up your bag from the closet and start packing it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>	You grab your computer, clothes and whatnot, and thrust them into the bag. It must be too heavy, or the bag too full, because he notices the bottom seams are starting to give out: or at least strain to a breaking point. When he can stop noticing that little detail long enough to scan your face, he can see nothing but anger. Your soul, though, tells a different story. It screams of conflict, of pain and of fear. He can see it in your shaking hands and in the haphazard way you pack the bag. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>	When you can’t fit anything else into the little bag, you turn to the door- before Sans can think about the morals of it too much, he takes a light hold of your soul with blue magic and holds you still for a moment. He stands and crosses to you- your shoulders are shaking violently now, and when he sets a light hand on your shoulder you visibly flinch. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“i’m not going to hurt you,” he says, softly. “you know that. right?”</p>
<p>“Let me… let me go."</p>
<p>“please don’t do this. please, sweetheart.”</p>
<p>“I’ll call you when I get home.”</p>
<p>“call me if he-“</p>
<p>“He’s not going to do anything,” you spit, and he takes it as his cue to take his hand off your shoulder. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>	After a long moment, he lets you go. You seem to hesitate a moment, but he takes the burden of conversation upon himself. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“be safe. get some sleep.”</p>
<p>“I’ll… I’ll do that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	You turn to leave: the bottom of your bag gives out, dropping your things to the floor. </p>
<p>	Maybe it was an omen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~~~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Your phone had rang right before dinner started. You were halfway through laughing at some stupid joke Sans told when the ringtone distracted you: it was familiar, and it knocked you off-kilter mentally. You looked down at the screen, just to be sure it was really happening. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Liam Flake &lt;3 &lt;3” scrolled across the top.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“somethin’ wrong?” Sans asked, when the mirth in your face died and you stood, slowly.</p>
<p>“Oh-“ you looked up, relaxed yourself as best you could. “Yeah, my bad. Sorry, just got a phone call. I need to take this.”</p>
<p>“no prob, bob.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	You slipped upstairs and into Sans’ room.</p>
<p>	And you clicked answer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There you are, thought you’d never pick up!” he sounded happy. You got the feeling he was faking it. His voice made you feel like you were falling a hundred miles an hour.</p>
<p>“Hi,” you said, in a small voice.</p>
<p>“God, where the hell are you? After I got out of the house I’ve been looking everywhere for you, it’s like you’ve vanished!”</p>
<p>“I… I don’t have to tell you that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	There was a long silence. You could hear his breathing. It was too close. It was too loud. You pulled a blanket off Sans’ mattress and pulled it around you like a suit of armor. You felt less exposed that way, at least.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You aren’t still mad about the other week, are you?”</p>
<p>“You threatened me, and got way too drunk, and you tried to blackmail- and guilt trip me- into staying with you, Liam. Of course I’m still mad about it.”</p>
<p>“Look, I’m really sorry, you know how I get when I’m drunk. I didn’t think you’d still be bitching about it after all this time, yeesh.”</p>
<p>“Wh- I’m not bitching about it!” you said: but it came out too small, too defensive. “You really hurt me, and- and we’re finished. You never treated me fairly and I don’t want to do this anymore.”</p>
<p>“Is this because of that skeleton guy who pinned me to the wall and stole you? Because I can give you ten reasons why he’s a piece of shit off the top of my head, and-“</p>
<p>“He is not a piece of shit! And he did not steal me, I went with him willingly. He’s been helping me. You need to stop contacting me. I want to move forward, not back.”</p>
<p>	Another deadly silence, heavier than the first.</p>
<p>“I’ve been really patient with you. I’ve been putting up with you disobeying me and talking back to me a lot now, and I’m finished. I’m just trying to help you understand how awful that guy is. He hears me yellin’ drunk and he rushes in to be the hero. He’s manipulating you, you know. He’s trying to hook up with you, he’s just biding his time, trying to make himself look good. He’s going to take what he wants from you and finish you off rather than have you snitching. That’s just how monsters are. I gave you options, CHOICES, and he has you right where he wants you.”</p>
<p>“He’s not trying to hook up with me. He’s being a good friend to me.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, right. Look, I just want what’s best for you. Come home. I won’t get drunk, I’m two weeks sober and I’ve cleaned up the house. You’ll be safe from him over here, alright? That’s a promise.”</p>
<p>“I…”</p>
<p>“You aren’t stupid. You know I’m right.”</p>
<p>“I- I mean… no, he’s…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Once the seeds of doubt in your mind rose, there was nothing you could do to stop them from materializing. Was Sans really just… everything you were trying to escape? Was he really just biding his time until he could play hero? You couldn’t tell, but you were scared.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll come. Tomorrow. I have to say goodbye and pack.”</p>
<p>“Sure. I’ll be at the house waiting on you.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“Okay. Love you!”</p>
<p>“I… I love you, too.”</p>
<p>“Bye.”</p>
<p>“Bye.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	You hung up first, feeling nauseous and nervous and scared all at once. You didn’t go down to dinner. You curled up under the covers and inhaled Sans’ sharp scent of metal and mustard and coffee grounds until you fell asleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	And here you stand, in front of your apartment with a poorly-sewn-up bag filled with clothes, Liam staring you right in the eyes with a smile. The taxi behind you pulls away. Something tells you you’re going to regret this. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~~~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Sans is still trying to process what’s happened in the last two days. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“grillby… refill?”</p>
<p>“That’s the fourth drink you’ve had tonight… you think you’re gonna overdo it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	To review… Liam called you. He said something, apparently, that convinced you to go and live with him again. Your “home”. So you called a taxi and left. He hasn’t seen or heard from you since. You said you’d call him when you got home, but, well, that didn’t happen. He’s nervous if you even GOT there, let alone if you’re safe now. He drums his fingers on the outside of his empty glass, frowning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“i’m tryin’ not ta think about anythin’,” he grumbles.</p>
<p>“Alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the fire elemental says, sliding a black rum into his hand. He takes a long sip. God, you’d be so disappointed in him being back here again. Especially for the express purpose of getting hammered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	What if you’re hurt? Being hurt? Being taken advantage of, or insulted, or starved or crying? The thought of tears on your face makes his metaphorical gut drop. He takes a long swig of the rum and coughs a little. It’s strong. Good. That’s good. He needs to get his mind off you for the night, and a good hard-hitting drink is the quickest way to get that done. Even if it means he’ll be absolutely smashed tomorrow morning. He takes another sip, and the world goes blurry around the edges, just enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sans…. you… stop drinking… -ANS!” </p>
<p>“go’way,” he snarls at the voice. His drink is snatched out of his hand, and after a moment he can feel a hot hand grip the back of his hoodie. “leggo’a me!”</p>
<p>“You’ll… be… blackout drunk at… rate.” The words of his attacker fade in and out like waves. Has it been a second, a minute, or an hour since things started to get warm and swirly?</p>
<p>“can’ understand’a word’jer sayin’, so leggo!”</p>
<p>“… calling Papyrus…”</p>
<p>“don’ do THAT!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	But things are going dark so fast, and the last thing he registers before his mind shuts off is the thought of holding you close and safe-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-being torn away from him.</p>
<p>~~~~~~~</p>
<p>	The next couple weeks felt like some kind of messed-up routine: for both you and Sans. Sans spent his mornings and afternoons with hangovers, trying in vain to get ahold of you, worrying, then going and getting drunk at Grillby’s. He wasn’t an addict. He just hated thinking about you so much. Sometimes he would stay away from the drinks for a day or two, out of the worry that if you saw him there you would think he was a terrible person, but: he hated sitting on his bed in the dark thinking about you. So he always returned to his favorite old pub at least three times a week. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>	For you, there was a sort of new normal with Liam. You could see the person you’re afraid of shine through his mask every once and a while, but for the most part he could keep himself under control. No pictures. Significantly less sex. And while he made not-quite-flattering comments on your weight almost every time you ate, he never forced you into not eating. Sometimes he would threaten or insult you, but he never followed through with anything he said. He got hammered, still, even after he told you it wasn’t happening anymore: but he kept to himself when he did. Case in point, he was a shitty boyfriend. But he wasn’t an illegal one. </p>
<p>	You miss Sans so much. Sometimes it’s so intense you wake up in the middle of the night wondering where he is, why he stopped holding you… and when you turn around and lay eyes on Liam, unwanted tears spring to your eyes. You miss the safety he brought you. The comforting roll of his voice, and the way his eyelights never left your face when you talked, when he held you he held you gently and firmly, like a priceless treasure he didn’t want to break or bend. Even his smell, sometimes. When you smell it lingering on your clothes, you bury your face in them and try to relive the precious moments when he held your hand, or hugged you, or wiped away your tears. You don’t need him… you could honestly go without any guys right now. But lord, do you want him back. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>	That’s the one line Liam drew in the sand. Mention Sans, call Sans, text Sans, meet up with him? There will be consequences. And they won’t only hurt you. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Sometimes you fantasize about what it would be like if Sans came back. You know you’d go with him, but not without a second thought. You wouldn’t want to risk his life- Liam wouldn’t hurt you too badly. But in this society, where the justice system is still skeptical of monsters? Liam could probably kill Sans with twenty witnesses and get probation for a week (at most). However, it doesn’t stop you from dreaming. Sans, coming to your bedroom window at midnight, knocking, perched on the ledge and telling you he’ll shortcut you someplace. Sans, in a disguise, asking you to sign for a package of some kind and taking you by the hand, making the both of you vanish. Sans sneaking you coded messages about when and where to meet him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>	You didn’t want to leave him. But somehow, in the safety of knowing what you are in this world… you don’t want to leave here either. You hate the world for being so complicated sometimes. <br/>That’s what you’re thinking, at least, as you stare at your book. You aren’t really reading it; only thinking and flipping pages every now and again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m going out!” Liam says, passing you in your chair. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t want’cha doing while I’m gone, you know what I mean. I’ll check your phone when I get back.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” you mumble, sighing at your book. “Where are you going out?”</p>
<p>“Monster dive in the middle’a town, a couple of friends suggested it and I thought I’d give it a shot. Apparently they’ve got pretty good burgers.”</p>
<p>“Would you bring something back for me?” you dare to venture.</p>
<p>“You don’t need it,” he says, snidely, glancing at your stomach. You duck your head again. Really, you shouldn’t have asked. And he’s not half wrong. “Well, I’ll head out. Bye, love ya.”</p>
<p>“Bye.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	He doesn’t even seem to notice you don’t return his “I love yous” anymore. </p>
<p>“Sans would notice,” you think to yourself.</p>
<p>	You glance at your phone across the room and shake your head.<br/>	You don’t want to risk this anymore.<br/>	It’s best you let him go.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~~~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Grillby stares at Sans with a skeptical look as he orders a line of shots.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“bad day, grillbz. just wanna lose it fast.”</p>
<p>“You LOOK like you’ve had a bad day. What the hell’s up with you, anyway?”</p>
<p>“nunya.”</p>
<p>“I’m not falling for that.”</p>
<p>“just gimme a drink.”</p>
<p>“Your hubris will be your downfall,” he quips. Grillby used to be a coldblooded killer, and Sans knows it, but he knows way too much poetry. Hell, Sans doesn’t know what a hubris IS. </p>
<p>“me’n my hubris would like some vodka already.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Before he can respond, Grillby glances up and cusses under his breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“what?”</p>
<p>“Don’t look now, but we have humans incoming.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Sans looks as obviously as possible. A bunch of rowdy-looking human guys in their twenties stroll into the joint, laughing. He eyes them all carefully, skimming over the quieter ones in the back. The quiet ones weren’t usually troublemakers. He subtly flipped his hood up to make sure none of them approached him, then turned back around to continue haranguing Grillby.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll get your drink in a minute, I need to go take care of these guys,” he sighs, walking off to greet them and get them to tables. Most ordered food, but a handful came to the bar, filling up whatever remaining seats there were. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Sans listened to the conversations they had while he waited. Some talked about sweet things, like their family, and others told funny stories. He honed in on the guy next to him-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How’d you get that bruise? Looks nasty.”</p>
<p>“Long story. Basically, though, monster broke into my house and beat the shit out of me, then stole my girlfriend.”</p>
<p>“No way, dude, how many drinks you had?”</p>
<p>“None! Not shitting you- I was hammered, though, so I don’t know how much of it was real. I just know he told me I didn’t deserve anything and pinned me to the wall with these like… bone knife things. I wake up? She’s gone and the monster’s wrecked my house.”</p>
<p>“Did you call 911?”</p>
<p>“Nah, she came back a few days later. Escaped, more like…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Grillby comes back to see Sans sitting, tense and hunched over, his face turned to his right and his eyelights extinguished.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I, uh, got your shots.”</p>
<p>“gimme the bottle.”</p>
<p>“The what?”</p>
<p>“what’d ya make the shots with?”</p>
<p>“Uh. Vodka?”</p>
<p>“Where’s the bottle of it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Grillby goes and gets it, then hands it to Sans. He screws open the stopper on top, tips it back for a solid three seconds, then slams it on the counter and stands. The rest seems to happen in slow motion to anyone watching. He grabs Liam by the arm out of his barstool and shortcuts them to the back alley, and slams him against the wall by his throat in less than a second. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“hey, pal.”</p>
<p>“Wh- YOU,” he rasps, as he struggles against the iron grip on his neck. “I’LL CALL THE COPS!”</p>
<p>“the cops, bud, are two verbal testimonies away from putting you away for life. that might not be a good idea.”</p>
<p>“F- fuck you!”</p>
<p>“real creative, pal.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Sans tightens his grip on his throat, his soulbeats quickening rapidly. This could be it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“listen-“</p>
<p>“Hell no!”<br/>“i’ll k i l l  y o u if you don’t,” he hissed. Liam shut his trap. “good. here’s what’s gonna happen. you’re not gonna go home. you’re goin’a spend the night anywhere else but yer home.”</p>
<p>Liam glared at him, but didn’t speak. Sans’ thoughts were still trained on you, however.</p>
<p>“i’m gonna be watchin’ ya, buddy. and if she don’t get in touch with me once a day tellin’ me how you treated her, i’m gonna get down there and toss ya off the roof.”</p>
<p>Sans got a scoff in response, so he simply shortcutted to the back of the roof of the little pub, holding him by his throat over the edge.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“you think i won’t do it, jackass? i’m tired’a seein’ my best friend suffer ‘cause’a you. and i think it’d be real easy to just…” he loosens his grip, and Liam hurriedly grabs onto Sans’ arm, a look of true fear in his eyes. Sans finally tightens his hold again, then growls. “don’t touch her anymore, buddy. she’s a hugger, not a fucker. i shouldn’t have to tell ya that, but you’re bad at this, so i’ll give you that hint.”</p>
<p>“so, what’re we gonna do, again? you’re gonna go home and tell sunshine that she can contact me, and do it as often as she likes. if she don’t text me by tomorrow mornin’ at seven, consider yerself dead. capiché?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Liam doesn’t respond, and Sans holds him farther over the edge of the roof by his fingertips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“in case yer skull is thick. c a p i c h é ?”</p>
<p>“Y-yeah!”</p>
<p>“’s what i thought.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	In a blink, Liam is back in his seat at the bar, and Sans shortcuts to your new address. He’s always known where you are: your soul calls out to him so frequently he worries you’ll die of it. When he appears in the middle of the living room, though, he realizes he probably shouldn’t have shown up half-drunk. Whatever.</p>
<p>“sunshine?” he calls- he realizes his voice sounds weaker than he intended it to, but at least it sounds sober.</p>
<p>“Sans?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	You come running out, and without giving a second thought as to why he’s here, you hug him, tightly. He coughs, surprised, and hugs you back, picking you up lightly and spinning you in a circle before letting you back down to the ground.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sans…”</p>
<p>“hiya.”</p>
<p>“You’re drunk,” you laugh. A little nervous. Not a lot, though. You trust him.</p>
<p>“yeah, i know. ‘m not gonna do anythin’ stupid. you’d be surprised how much i can handle before i actually do something stupid.”</p>
<p>“Yeah- I mean, I know. But, you have to leave. Liam’ll be home soon, he’ll kill you if he sees you here.” You look so scared. It makes his soul twist, and he rubs your back gently.</p>
<p>“he’s not comin’ back tonight. he’s gonna give you a little break and he’ll be back in the morning.”</p>
<p>“What… what did you do?” you ask, pulling out of the hug and holding him at arms length. </p>
<p>“he’s not dead, he’s not hurt. just… talked to him. bluffed some shit. but he’s not gonna hurt you anymore, you can count on that. and you can check in with me now. so i know you’re okay.”</p>
<p>“What did you think happened?”</p>
<p>“what?”</p>
<p>“What did you think was happening to me?” you ask, quietly. “Is that why you’re drunk?”</p>
<p>“i… i guess i mighta assumed the worst. are things better?”</p>
<p>“A lot… not enough, but, a lot. I really need to diet, though, heheh.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	His face hardens, and you cup his cheeks in your hands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s okay. I’m okay. I just really missed you.”</p>
<p>He pulls you back into a hug, rubbing your back again and sighing into your shoulder. “you, too. it was fuckin’ torture not bein’ able to talk to ya, thinkin’ you were out here gettin’ hurt. he hasn’t hurtcha, has he? or, uh- made ya-“</p>
<p>“No. No, I promise. I’m okay. I’m safe. Safe enough.”</p>
<p>“are you happy? it ain’t all aboutcha bein’ just safe, doll.”</p>
<p>“Of c- I mean. I mean, I’m. I’m home. With all my stuff. And I know who I am here.”</p>
<p>“are you happy by yourself?”</p>
<p>“I have L… I. I’m not- I wouldn’t say I’m-”</p>
<p>“yes or no?”</p>
<p>“Y…y…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	And then you’re shaking, and when you sink to the floor he follows right along with you, holding you like you’ve been craving for weeks, his forehead pressed to your temple as you sob to yourself. When you start to hyperventilate, he finally stops you.</p>
<p>“hey, hey, deep breaths. i’ve got you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	You breathe in and out, following his lead, holding his hands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“i’ve got you… you’re okay. we’re okay.”</p>
<p>“I’m n-not… I ha-have to stay here… I ha-have to or you-you’re gonna get hurt!”</p>
<p>He seizes up, holding you close, shaking his head. “no, no, no, sunshine, if i knew you wanted to come home with me i’da brung you so long ago. we never gotta come back here, i’d never leave you, i just thought you wanted to stay. and i’d never let anyone hurt me, or take me away from you, or anything, i swear. i’ll- i’ll protect you, and me, i promise.”</p>
<p>“I-I can’t…”</p>
<p>“you can. please. i don’t know how much longer i can take this, not bein’ able to know if you’re alright. please, please, please let me take care of you again. i want you to be happy. please.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	After a minute, you pull back and look him in the eyes. He’s crying a little bit, too, now- whether it be because of the drinks making him emotional or the true gravity of the moment. And then you kiss him. He’s dumbfounded by it, but he doesn’t bother trying to stop you, simply holds you gently until you pull back again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Goddamnit, Sans. Fuck. I think I love you,” you laugh. “Take me wherever the hell you want, just get me out of here.”</p>
<p>“wonderful, but, if you’ll give me a minute,” he says, before pulling in to kiss you again. And again. And again. It’s so soft and amazing, and yet so deep, and passionate, and desperate. He doesn’t let anything go any further before he’s separated himself from you and is pulling you to your feet. “let’s go home.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” you say, standing on shaking legs and squeezing your eyes shut, holding your breath, and holding tight to his arm. And then- *poof*. The apartment is once again, empty.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Back at home, he teleports the two of you straight to his room. You were honestly expecting a makeout session of some kind, maybe even more. But as soon as he makes it to his bed with you, he merely hugs you, holding you tight and taking hiccuping breaths. You pet his skull for a while, where it is, tightly buried in your neck and shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” you ask, quietly, after a minute or two.</p>
<p>“nothin’. you’re finally home. i… god, i thought you’d be dead by now. you’re home.”</p>
<p>“Hey…”</p>
<p>“it’s okay. i’m okay. just really relieved. i’m not sad.”</p>
<p>“Just shaky.”</p>
<p>“yeah.”</p>
<p>“Me, too.”</p>
<p>“promise you’ll still be here when i wake up? everythin’s a little fuzzy, can’t tell if i’m dreaming.”</p>
<p>“Only if you promise you’ll be here for me.”</p>
<p>“swear. on my life, darlin’.”</p>
<p>“I love you.”</p>
<p>“you, too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	And you sat quietly for a little while.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>comment and i will respond<br/>i miss comments<br/>lord its been a while, how are you guys</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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